The Conqueror
by Nathaniel Shepard
Summary: An alternate reality fic, mainly centered around OCs but featuring canons as well. When Link dons the Fierce Deity's Mask, he saves Termina from Majora's Mask, but unleashes Riend, an eons-old entity with ambitious plans of his own.
1. Prologue: On the Moon

The Legend of Zelda: The Conquerer

Prologue: On the Moon

_A masked jungle warrior._

_A masked mechanical monster._

_A gargantuan masked fish._

_A giant masked insect._

_All of them defeated by my hand._

_My sword._

_My power._

_And each in turn fed my lust for freedom, my desire to finally escape._

_Escape, finally, from this wooden Hell allotted to me at the beginning of time._

_The beginning of any time that matters, at least._

_I destroyed them. The warrior, the monster, the fish, the insect—all contributing to the final realization of my escape. One more kill, perhaps two, and the fool that thinks to use my power will find that he is the one being used._

_And one more kill is exactly what I'll get, isn't it? And what a kill. The only thing, perhaps, that I want more than freedom. The destruction of that warmongering, senseless brute Majora. He probably hasn't fared much better than I these many eons—after all, he was also allotted his own private wooden Hell, and has resided there for as long as I._

_Well, perhaps not quite so long. Majora seems lately to have been quite enamoured of seeing the world through the eyes of a forest child… A Skull Kid. He has been gallivanting about and wreaking havoc for three days' time. I have only seen glimpses of the world that was denied me, and small glimpses at that—four small glimpses. A glimpse of a jungle warrior, one of a mechanical monster, one of a gargantuan fish, and one of a giant insect, to be precise._

_I suppose I oughtn't complain about Majora's freedom. After all, if Majora hadn't brought about such chaos, I would still lie dormant, imprisoned. This forest-raised idiot would never have found me, would never have used me, would never have infused me with the power of those four…_

_Those vital masks. I believe Majora seeks to use those masks against this boy, this Link, in their final confrontation. Majora does not know that I stand against him, however. Those four masks are already under my control. Oh, yes, they will be subject to Majora's influence, but it will not matter. He will not have had time to extend his influence into them. The masks are bonded to me now. They obey my will. And soon—very soon—Majora will fall at the hand of the Fierce Deity. As will the mind and body of this boy, Link. And before long, all of Termina—and perhaps further._

_Soon, all the world will know and fear my name, the name of the Fierce Deity, the name of the Conqueror._

_I am Riend._

- - -

The wide-eyed mask hovered in the air before Link as I watched silently. Link fingered my mask, and I silently willed him to don it, but his hand slid instead back to his sword. He pulled it over his shoulder and brandished it at the mask, which issued an eerie laughter.

Even as a familiar cachinnation penetrated my prison, I felt the searing energy coursing through me, saw the masks spinning away, cursed without a sound as they grew stationary on the walls around us.

_Put on the mask, damn you! _I thought adamantly, wishing, not for the first time, that I could communicate directly with Link. Instead of donning my mask, though, he shouted and ran at Majora. The evil mask plastered itself across the floor, and I finally realized that Majora had gained much more power than I had thought.

Red tentacles, wet and glistening with what looked like blood, emerged from beneath and propelled the mask as it spun, the once-decorative spikes that lined the thing now becoming deadly weapons. Link dove out of the way when he realized that it was spinning toward him, then got in a quick jab with his sword. The mask grunted noncommittally at the attack, then shrieked when Link struck again, this time thrusting the sword deep into the soft underbelly of the mask. Another thrust, and again I felt that searing power within. The masks on the walls shuddered, and then burst from the walls, soaring toward Link.

_Put on the mask!_ I thought again, and I finally felt Link's hand on the wooden mask.

An instant later, the surroundings darkened and I felt myself flowing from the mask into Link's body, as if my very essence were filling him from the bottom up, until the mask itself was but a symbol, and I was truly alive again. The sword warped itself as the transition occurred—peripherally, I noticed that the blade split in two, then twined about itself, coming together at the point. Link was gone by this point—his mind meant nothing to me, though I knew it must be somewhere, lost within the endlessly deep reaches of my own consciousness.

Majora's mask had stopped moving, those wide eyes staring unflinchingly at me. I smiled as I realized it was the first time Majora had seen me. The other four masks had also stopped, perhaps due to Majora's astonishment.

"I had thought it curious that such a child might rival my minions," Majora said finally, his voice a high-pitched, evil wail.

I could not but widen my smile. "Is this truly the first you have learned of my presence? We both have our ways of getting around our immurements, Majora." I spread my arms, sheathing my sword for the moment. "And now we have both broken free of those restraints—utterly and completely."

It was true. I knew it—I was free. The previous four times Link had donned my mask, I had felt almost the same—but always with a cobwebby feeling, as if I were still entwined in that damnable mask. Now, though, it was gone, and I felt as I had felt in all the days before I had ever been imprisoned.

Majora, too, was operating without a medium save his own mask. True, I was using the body of the boy Link, but only because I was not aesthetically impressed by the appearance of this slavering, tentacled thing before me—and, without a human body, I would not appear much different.

"So you have come to kill me?" Majora's voice was one of caution and aggression, trepidation and bloodlust.

"Killing you would do nothing," I said. "I have come to destroy you, Majora." The sword was in my hand in a trice, though I could have unleashed the sparkling energy at him without it. He shrieked as the light smashed into him, sending him backward into the wall. The four masks redoubled their assault, but they all shattered at a whispered command from my lips. Majora rose up and growled.

"You will pay for that," Majora hissed. I smiled.

"Perhaps someday," I said.

With a sound like that of human limbs being forcibly removed, two bizarrely long arms and two identical legs sprouted from the mask's soft underside. He emitted a shrill cry, and came at me, swinging those arms and simultaneously unleashing a volley of dark energy at me. I raised the sword and easily deflected the energy, but one of his arms caught me on the side of the head and sent me sprawling. With a snarl, I hit the ground, rolled, and was on my feet fast enough to spin around and send another burst of sparkling energy in his direction. It hit the arm with which he had struck me, still extended, and instantly vaporized the limb. He shrieked yet again, and sprang backward. More dark energy, blasts so small and so numerous that it was like a swarm of bees coming at me. As if in a dance, I managed to spin and move my sword so as to deflect all but the smallest and fastest bolts, which caused little or no damage anyway. But the energy kept coming. My dance grew faster and faster, more and more exotic, until I was forced to unleash the bulk of my own power to neutralize everything he was throwing at me. Before he could recover from the blast, I ran at him and, with my sword, severed his other arm. He issued another shriek, and in the same fluid movement, I twisted the sword around the other way and severed both of his legs in one sweep of the blade. The mask clattered to the floor, wailing and shrieking in a voice that threatened to burst my eardrums. I kicked the mask, and it spun across the floor, leaving a trail of streaked blood behind it. All along, the terrible howl never ceased. For a moment—but just a moment—I believed it was over. Suddenly, though, the cacophony stopped, and the mask snapped to an upright position. Again, those eyes fixed upon me.

"You," Majora enunciated once more, "will pay for that." And I was thrown backward by the force of the released power as an entire body egressed from the mask, just as the arms and legs had done before. The body bade me think of a skinless animated corpse, save the two ridiculously long tentacles that writhed about on the ground beneath it. I raised my sword instinctively, but one of the tentacles snapped out like a whip, twined about the blade, and wrenched it from my hands. The other tentacle, as the first was withdrawing, snapped out in a similar fashion and bound my wrist. Then the first took hold of my other wrist. I could not move, and the grip was tightening. I tried to draw upon the reserves of my power, but they were drained because I had released it all just moments ago. Desperately I cast about for something, anything—_Ah_,I thought to myself._ Yes, that'll about do it._

"'Maybe someday,'" Majora screeched sneeringly, and I stared as the lumbering form, mask covering its chest, approached me. The strength of the tentacles holding me by my wrists never faltered. "'Maybe someday.' No! You die today, Riend." The tentacles tightened again. "Even in the beginning, you plagued me. Your time is up, Riend."

"My time is far from up," I laughed suddenly, and Majora looked mildly surprised.

"You hide your fear," Majora said. "Or you are an idiot."

"You'll never know," I said, and prepared to strike even as I spoke. "I'll never tell. But I promise you, my time is far from up. It's a matter of comparing our advantages. You see, right now, your strength more than matches mine. One for one. We have both temporarily exhausted our magical energy stores. Two for two. The fact that I appear incapacitated is causing you to let down your guard. Disadvantage for you. So we are three for two, in my favour. To tip the scales completely, I would like to inform you that telekinesis requires virtually no expenditure of energy."

Majora shrieked as my sword plunged into the back of the body's head. The tentacles tightened so rapidly I thought my wrists might shatter, but I wrenched away, and he released me with little fuss. I wasn't sure of the most effective point to attack with the sword, so I withdrew the sword with a hasty thought, then replaced it, lower, just behind where the left eye of the mask was. He shrieked again. His tentacles flailed about wildly, but it took little effort to avoid them—there were only two, after all. I called the sword to me and backed away from the screaming mask. I knew he was not finished, and my sword was flying even as the idea came to me. The sword flew out to the base of the left tentacle, and pierced the shoulder area. Another shriek came, but the tentacle did not fall, nor did it stop moving. So I resorted to my second plan. The sword began to hack arbitrarily at the shoulder area. Crude, but effective. Before long, The tentacle fell to the ground. It continued to writhe for a moment, and the second tentacle was already falling by the time it stopped. The sword returned to my hand and I stared at the shrieking, wailing, armless thing that had once been a terrifying monster, but was now just a hideous abomination.

I took a small amount of the ambient power around us and absorbed it into myself—a dangerous thing that I did not do often, but which I deemed appropriate for the current situation—and released it, raw and unadulterated, at Majora. He was blasted backward into the wall at an odd angle. Colliding with the wall, he bounced back and hit the floor, sliding briefly toward me before he stopped and lay still. After a moment, the remains of the body—the parts that were still connected, that is—retracted within the mask and vanished. The severed tentacles, as well as the arms and legs, burst into flame and vanished in seconds. The mask itself was still and silent, facedown on the floor.

I stared down at it. Even without invoking any sort of magic, I could see that the mask was empty, both physically and magically. There was only one thing I had to do in order to assure myself that Majora was truly dead. I walked forward and placed my foot on the mask. When I exerted a subtle pressure, the mask snapped in half with the clean _crack_ of thin wood. I removed my foot and stared down at the broken mask. Like my own mask, as long as its denizen existed, the mask was all but indestructible. The fact that my foot had broken it meant that it had no prisoner. It had no denizen.

Majora was dead.

I turned and surveyed the room—all traces of Majora were gone save the wooden mask. The only blood left on the floor and walls was my own. All traces of the confrontation were gone. I turned back to the mask.

Majora was dead.

"Here's to sibling rivalry," I said dryly, and ground the mask to dust with my foot.

El apunte de escritor

"The Note of the Writer!" (Dun dun dunnnnnnnnn, dramatic reverrrrrrrb!)

Great and Powerful Keski here, just going through this story and adding my own little commentary to each of the chapters. For some unfathomable reason, I actually wrote the author's note on chapter three first... Bah, I'll do these in whatever order I bloody please. I'm also going through and correcting Bard's spelling errors on the chapter intros. :P Have fun reading, all, and enjoy the story. If you don't, I'll kill you in your sleep.

Ahahahahaha. I'm just kidding.

...right?

...No, voice... Bad voice... I don't want to kill my readers... Don't make me, voice... Please...

Just read the bloody story! .>


	2. Chapter I: Summoned

The Conqueror

Chapter I: Summoned

_She was sore all over. Why? She felt like she was drifting. She didn't want to drift. So she got her arms beneath herself and shoved. The world fell into place before her eyes—what was left of it, at least. Her world was gone. How? She felt like she was drifting. She didn't want to drift._

_"Mommy," she called. "Daddy. Where are you?" They couldn't be far. They were never far. Calling them always worked—they were Mommy and Daddy, after all. Why shouldn't they answer to their own titles? But they weren't answering. No matter. She'd find them. Where? She felt like she was drifting. She didn't want to drift. Mommy and Daddy didn't seem to be here. She continued to search, never once stopping to wonder why all of this burnt rubble stood in place of her home. Mommy and Daddy were nowhere near. They didn't respond to her calls, even though a hint of fear had suddenly crept into her voice. When? She felt like she was drifting. She didn't want to drift. Her throat was tightening, and a tear was making its way down her left cheek. Now she ran away from the wreckage, tripping several times over pieces of wood that had escaped the fire. Someone had done this—it hadn't happened all on its own. But—Who? She felt like she was drifting. She didn't want to drift._

_"They're dead."_

_"What?"_

_She felt like she was drifting._

_She didn't want to drift._

_She wanted to go home._

- - -

Mera awoke terrified, but the dream itself was already forgotten by the time her eyelids had opened. With a deep breath and an exhalation to match, she pushed herself to a sitting position. She was sore all over—From training yesterday, no doubt. It wasn't exactly easy, training to become one of the Sheikah, and it was damned near impossible to do it without a few injuries along the way.

Mera winced as she made her way to her apartment's adjoining bathroom.

"Should have taken a bath last night," Mera muttered to herself as she ran a bath. To say nothing of the rest of Hyrule, the Sheikah, at least, were fairly well off. That much was obvious, what with lowly trainees being able to stay in private apartments with running—and _hot_—water. "Or at least stretched a bit before going to sleep," she continued to grumble. "I never stretch after practice, and I always regret it the next morning."

She slowly and gingerly stripped off her bedclothes; then, in the wall mirror, carefully examined the bruises that covered her body. With grim recollection, she recreated yesterday's events, remembering each bruise as it had come to her. There, beneath her left armpit, was her most foolish mistake—she'd actually raised her arm to block a painfully obvious feint, opening herself for an easy strike. The wince she gave now was not caused by the painful bruise, but by the memory of her mistake.

Turning from the rest of the bruises, she stopped the bath water and sat on the bench beside the tub. It didn't take long to soap up her thick, reddish-brown hair, but it took nearly thrice as long to wash it to her satisfaction. It still felt mildly greasy when she'd finished, but that was only because the Académie Shiekah didn't spend nearly so much on soap as they did on lodgings. She eased herself into the bathtub and allowed herself a soft moan as she was submerged to her chin in the hot water.

"I wonder," Mera mused as she soaked. "I wonder what Sito is up to lately. I'll bet he's planning something big." She hadn't heard from the older man for several days. Ordinarily, he went missing for a few days whenever he was planning a treat for the students at the AS. The last time he'd vanished, there'd been a Yearend party the likes of which the Académie hadn't seen in decades. Mera smiled. A smile could still be gotten from anybody at the AS, just by mentioning Avaso's dance routine. That had been something to talk about—up until, and including, the moment he'd fallen off the stage and into the bushel out of which they'd been bobbing for apples.

As if the memory of the barrelful of water had reminded Mera of what she was doing, she sat up sleepily and began to scrub away at herself. She didn't spend as much time on her body as she'd spent on her hair, and she was done in a handful of minutes. She reluctantly got out of the tub and let it drain while she dried herself off and went into the main apartment to find some clothing.

"'General Practice'," she recited from memory. "General Practice today. Wonderful. That means more bruises." As she grumbled, she pulled from her wardrobe a fitted shirt designed with practicality in mind; it was green, in keeping with the style of Faroke Sheikah garb, and, once donned, was elastic enough to hug her body without being too tight or getting in the way. It also had a handful of pockets, conveniently placed yet somehow designed to be near invisible to anybody who didn't know what he was looking for. Mera also grabbed a pair of fitted leggings to match, and some polished boots in the Faroke style—once she slipped her feet into them, they would look like an extension of her leggings, right down to the thin elasticity. In truth, though, Mera could walk on hot coals with those boots, and not feel a thing.

She donned all of her Sheikah garb, and returned to the bathroom to check that the tub had drained (it had) and to examine herself in the mirror. Once she had adjusted her uniform to her satisfaction, she combed her still-wet hair back and secured it tightly in a simple bun. Older, more experienced Sheikah were capable of managing long hair without tying it back. Unfortunately, Mera always found herself reduced to fumbling and cursing when she left her hair undone, so that was not an option for her.

"Well," Mera said to the girl in the mirror. "Ready to learn something today?"

"Sure," she replied to herself, "but I doubt I will."

- - -

"By the love of Nayru," Amrick said, "with each passing day, you grow more beautiful."

"By the wind of Farore," Mera retorted with a friendly smile, "with each passing day, you blow more hot air."

Amrick laughed as he stabbed at the ham on his plate with a fork. "Guilty as charged. I can't help it if I'm a hopeless romantic." Mera laughed at this and pushed a grape between her closed lips, pretending not to notice the way Amrick stared.

"You know," he said, voice cracking just slightly enough to make Mera smile, "you shouldn't tease like that. It's very unprofessional."

"Would it be more professional to jump on top of you right now?" Mera said with a raised eyebrow.

Amrick thought for a long time, then said, "If I said 'yes,' would you do it?"

Mera burst into laughter. After a moment, Amrick joined her.

"Attention, all students and trainees!" The barked shout came from the head of the dining hall, and Mera was suddenly painfully aware that she was one of only five students in the hall. "If you're still in here, you'd better be injured, sick, or otherwise excused from studies!"

"Whoops," Amrick said, bumping the table as he jumped up. "None of the above. Gotta go. Catch you later, pretty lady." And he rushed off, leaving his half-eaten breakfast on the table. Mera shook her head, finished off what was left of her cold Deku coffee, and carried both of their trays to the kitchen. Then she made her quick but unhurried way to the practice yard.

Once she arrived, she easily shrugged off her tardiness with a simple, "My apologies for being late. I was helping another trainee." As she'd expected, the instructor frowned and let her join the other trainees.

"As I was saying," the instructor said (and after a moment of wracking her brain, Mera recognized him as Teron Elik, an instructor whose name she always had trouble remembering), "the two of you I spoke to last time will be practicing with me in the south sector of the yard. The rest of you will continue your instruction on your own—you know what you're supposed to be doing. If you don't, come see me. Today shouldn't be anything special for any of you"—but Mera thought she noticed his eyes lingering on her for a bare moment—"so I don't expect any disruptions to the normal schedule. Now," and he began to walk away from the students, "Ryte, Anna, come with me. The rest of you, begin."

Mera headed to the weapons rack, taking only a moment to remember what she'd been practicing with the previous day. There was a single manoeuvre she'd been trying to perfect with a sword. Trying to perfect it in practice had gotten her a painful bruise in the small of her back. Now ought to be a perfectly fine time to try it out, though. She picked out a thin, light épée and weighed it in her hand. She didn't remember seeing the sword here before—perhaps it was a recent donation. Whomever had donated the thing must have paid a fair price to acquire it. It was a high-quality thing, only marred by a nasty chip in the ruby that formed the pommel of the sword. Still, it had good balance, and a beautiful blade. Not to mention the fact that the ruby complimented her hair wonderfully. She took a few experimental swings with it, and decided she liked it.

So she took the épée to a relatively open area opposite a training dummy (a scarecrow attached to a wooden stake), and assumed a classic fighting stance, with the assumption that her straw-filled opponent would be doing the same. She was following the classic style of Gerhard Locke, a famed Hylian swordsman of centuries past, for three reasons. First, it was a popular style, and fair to assume that she might someday fight an opponent who used this style. Second, it was her favourite sword fighting style. Third, it was one of only three styles which could appropriately accommodate the manoeuvre she wanted to try. So she saluted the dummy and raised the sword with her right hand, blade extended across her line of sight to the left.

Closing her eyes for a moment of concentration, she called silently to the power of the Goddess of the Wind. It came effortlessly, saturating her entire body in an instant. Now she raised the sword, blade erect and vertical, and directed the power into the blade. Someday, she reflected, she'd have to figure out how to do this in action. No opponent would simply stand still and allow her to prepare an attack like this. Nik certainly hadn't, when she'd tried it the previous day. Ah, well, such was the price paid when one tried to develop one's own sword techniques. As far as Mera knew, nobody had ever done this before. Perhaps that was because it was so damned difficult.

Mera now extended her sword arm out to the side and bent her knees just enough to be able to push herself in a clockwise rotation, as rapidly as possible. As she spun, the power in the blade extended out past the end of the blade itself. She'd found that spinning was the most effective way to extend the power. Unfortunately, she'd never been very good at techniques that required her to turn her back on her enemy. Regardless, she completed an entire rotation, and the by-now glowing green blade, twice as long as the épée itself, sliced cleanly through the dummy's body. She realized belatedly that it had also sliced through the wooden post. She then realized, even more belatedly, that she'd destroyed the dummy. "Damn it," she muttered, and called to memory the simple time-reversal spell that all trainees were taught on their first day.

It seemed impressive, but really, it was a pathetic spell. All of the dummies, and certain other things in the AS, were enchanted to be susceptible to several spells. One of these spells was a very simple time-reversal spell which would return it to whatever state it had been in several minutes ago. Needless to say, the spell had been developed to repair destroyed or damaged training dummies. As Mera completed the spell and performed the accompanying gesture, the severed parts of the dummy moved in an exact reflection of their earlier motion, and settled atop the remains of the dummy. The rips and frayed edges vanished, and the dummy was like new. Well, not quite new. It was like slightly used.

Mera looked at her sword, and the faintly glowing power that still rested within it. She swung it idly, and watched as the power within swelled slightly. It occurred to her that the centrifugal force, not the spinning itself, was what affected the power's extension. Perhaps she simply couldn't swing it fast or hard enough. With a disgusted sigh, she banished the power and returned the épée to the weapons rack.

She had just begun to search for a new weapon when an arrow wedged itself in the wooden weapons rack, bare inches to the right of her head. She growled to herself.

"Setras," she said amiably as she turned around.

"Mera," the tall, thin, blonde boy sneered. "Having fun? I'd suggest you try the daggers. From what I've heard, they're the favoured weapon of thieves and beggars."

"While we're on the subject of what weapons are used by different people," Mera said without missing a beat, "why are you using a bow? I thought snakes fought with their fangs."

He sneered again, baring the teeth in question.

Setras was a rich boy who'd made it into the AS by virtue of his family's prestige and wealth. He seemed to have a tradition of insulting Mera at least once each day, but never before an instructor. He didn't like her, and the feeling was mutual. She generally tried to avoid him, but when he accosted her like this, there really was no chance of that. So she plucked a quarterstaff from the rack and hefted it experimentally.

"Well, as long as we're both here," Mera said casually, "What say we test those fangs of yours against this oak quarterstaff? Or, if you prefer, there are some lovely daggers you could use…"

She ducked the arrow that came at her. "Now, I _know_ that wasn't meant to hit me," she said as she dashed toward him, swinging the staff in a simple horizontal sweep at chest level. He danced just out of reach, then let fly another arrow. This one scratched the side of her face, but it didn't feel as if it had left a mark. She made her way back to the empty area where she'd been practicing earlier, deftly avoiding his shots all the while. She paid careful attention to the quiver on his back—when it was depleted, she knew, he'd draw his sabre, and he was lethal with that thing. She managed to catch him flat across the chest with the full weight of her body against the quarterstaff, but this caused her to lose her balance. He was thrown backward, but managed to kick her in the right calf as they went down, and she gasped with the pain of the blow to the relaxed muscle. She was able to roll away from him before he tried another kick, and by that time, he was halfway to his feet and already drawing an arrow. She used the quarterstaff to push herself to a standing position, then, on an impulse, hooked it around and caught the bow out of his hands, flinging it off to the side. In the same movement, she brought the staff back around and, taking advantage of his surprise at losing the bow, knocked him off his feet by sweeping the staff underneath him.

Setras was visibly angry by this point, as might be expected.

"After daggers, cheating is the favoured weapon of thieves and beggars," he spat.

"Don't name me 'rat' and then complain when I fight like one," Mera said simply. "You're just the pot calling the kettle black, buddy boy."

"I'll show you a black kettle," he snarled, and Mera could already see the flames gathering about his hands.

"_Setras!_" Setras froze and paled at the furious shout from across the yard. Mera looked to see Teron striding toward them. "What in the name of Din's fire do you think you're doing? I shouldn't have to tell you that the usage of raw energy is absolutely forbidden within the Académie—do you want to kill somebody?!"

_Yes_, Mera thought dryly.

"N-no, Instructor," Setras stammered, all previous confidence gone.

"That's the second time this month you've been caught breaking serious regulations," Teron said. "Get out of here. Report to the Council. You'd better pray to Din they don't expel you—I know I would, if I had the authority!" Setras hung his head as he left the yard. Teron looked to Mera, and his expression was no less severe.

"Well?" he said. Mera knew the routine.

"He insulted me," she said with a shrug. "He seemed to want a fight, and sparring isn't against the rules, so I obliged him. I won, and it's no secret that he's a sore loser. That's about where you come in."

Teron sighed. "You ought to know by now that you two don't mix well," he said. "Can you just _try_ not to butt heads too much?"

Mera bit back a sharp retort and nodded. Teron was a superior, after all. "Yes, sir. I apologize for the commotion."

"Trainee Mera!" The shout wasn't angry, but it demanded attention. It came from the eastern entrance to the practice yard. When she looked, her jaw fell open. She quickly shut it.

Standing at the entrance to the practice yard was Pheos Myranna, one of the highest-ranking Council Members of the Sheikah. She hurried to answer the summons, coming to a nervous halt before him.

"Yes, sir?"

"Follow me," he said quietly but not unkindly, and turned away from her. She obliged. Not long into their walk, Pheos turned his head and eyed her appraisingly. "I remember when you came here," he said. "Barely a young girl, a truly sad sight. Now you are nearly a woman—and soon to be more."

Her stomach performed a deft back flip. "More, sir?"

Pheos nodded. "Much more. You are to be tested for acceptance into the ranks of the Sheikah Faroke."

She actually stopped walking for a moment, then hurried to catch up with him. "Really, sir? I'm—you—tested?" She stopped again, hurried again, and grinned. "This is one of Sito's jokes, isn't it?"

He looked at her, puzzled. "Certainly not, Mera." She noticed that he was not addressing her as 'child', as he usually did. "Do you not feel prepared? As you know, the Graduation Testing can only commence when both the Council, and the Trainee to be tested, agree that it is time. If you do not feel—"

"It's not that," she said, and realized that she did _not _feel ready, "it's just that—well—I've been in training for so _long_, and I guess—"

"It seems strange to think you may ever do anything else," Pheos said with a smile. "That is not an uncommon sentiment. For what it's worth, Mera, I feel that you will do fine. The testing will take place in here," and he stopped before a cherrywood door. Mera looked at Pheos' face, at his warm eyes, for just a moment, then turned to the door.

_I am ready,_ she thought to herself. _And if I'm not, well, it's not like I have to leave the AS. I'll just keep training until I'm ready. But that doesn't matter, because I'm ready now. I really am._

And she laid a single shaking hand on the doorknob. She hadn't realized her hand was shaking. Why was her hand shaking? She'd been nervous before, but that had never happened. Her breathing seemed oddly fast—and shallow. She wasn't taking in much air with each breath. Ah, well. She was breathing rapidly enough to make up for that. The door was still closed. The knob wouldn't turn. Why wouldn't the knob turn? Oh. She wasn't even trying to turn it. Funny, how she hadn't realized that sooner.

"…Mera? Are you all right?" Pheos' voice sounded oddly distant. Mera nodded.

"Mera, can you hear me?" She nodded impatiently.

Yes, yes, I can hear you.

Her hand slipped off the knob. Were her palms that sweaty? She caught hold of the knob again.

"Maybe you should sit down."

I don't need to sit down. I just need to open this damnable door.

"I'm going to get you a glass of w—Mera!"

Suddenly, her hand slipped off the knob again.

She felt like she was drifting.

Until she hit the floor.

Author's Note

Well, this is The Unsung Bard here, formally known as the infamous rebel Twilight Eye What's that? Never heard of me? Prepostorous! this is going to be the final attempt at a story i have tried and failed several times. Luckily, now I have a friend to do all the wordage for me.Yes, the plot and the majority of the characters are all mine, but you have to thank the Great and Powerful Keski for the awesome dialouge and the stunning narative. Well, we have the mystery of Mera on our hands now. What will happen next? What will the 'test' entail? What awaits the characters introduced thus far? What is Sito up to? And where the hell is Link?

Tune in next week for Mera's testing!


	3. Chapter II: Testing

The Conqueror

Chapter II: Testing

Mera felt like an idiot. She'd fainted at the door to the testing chamber. She was assured, multiple times, that it wasn't a big deal, but she _felt_ like an _idiot_. From what she gathered, she had woken up in the infirmary, nearly twenty minutes after being brought there by Pheos and _another_ senior Council Member. She hurried to get out of the bed, ignoring the advice that she rest a few more minutes to get her bearings. As she'd hoped (prayed, actually), they were still ready and willing to administer the testing.

As amends for actually _passing out_ at the door to the testing chamber, she screamed her way through all of the testing. She scored high, if not amazing, marks in every area. It took her only a single hour to complete a testing routine that normally took upwards of five. Upon finishing what seemed to be the final test, a test of magic, she let the Faroke branch of power subside within her, and straightened her posture.

"Impressive," came the appraisal of Mera's favourite Council Member, No'ua Bir. The elderly woman clapped her hands together delightedly. "Where did you learn that final technique?"

At the risk of sounding too proud of herself, Mera smiled and said, "I developed it myself just recently, Ma'am."

No'ua raised her eyebrows and made an extra note in a notebook. Mentally, Mera thrust a joyous fist into the air.

"Now," came Pheos' sombre voice from the far end of the long chamber. "Trainee Mera. You have passed all tests which shall qualify you to become one of the Sheikah of the Faroke clan—Except one."

What? Mera stared at him, inexplicably nervous all of the sudden—Though she was confident that she wasn't about to pass out.

"You have shown prowess in strength, in skill, in magic, and in mind. Now you must demonstrate that you are truly ready. You must overcome your own weaknesses—and your own strengths. To truly be one of the Faroke Sheikah, Mera, you must truly show the courage of the Goddess Farore. You must banish all outside influences that endanger your connection with the Goddess of Wind and Courage. You must conquer your inner darkness. You must become one with Farore. Do you understand what I have said to you, Mera?"

Mera nodded. "I do, sir. What is the test?"

Pheos raised a hand. Mera sensed the Faroke branch of power welling up within him, and knew that he was preparing to use the Farore's Wind teleportation spell. She wasn't expecting him to use it on her, though. Just before the testing chamber's vanished, she thought she heard a whispered, echoing, "Good luck."

- - -

She stood on a tiny island in the middle of a foggy, calm sea. On the island with her stood a single lonely palm tree. In the distance, on either side of her, Mera could see two more islands, each of which bore a single rusty door in a brick wall. She couldn't see what lay beyond those doors, but they were small islands. It couldn't be much. Unless they led underground—but still, it would take a lot of skilled construction to build anything useful underwater.

"Outside influences and inner darkness," Mera muttered. "Well, I'm not catching any hints of an inner darkness, so there must be outside influences here. Unless I'm interpreting it all wrong." She thought for several moments. "Overcome my own weaknesses, _and_ my strengths?" Mera continued to ponder. "'Become one with Farore.' That won't be a problem," she said, calling a brief flare of power into her right arm, and allowing the wind to blast forward over the water.

Something struck her as odd, but it took her nearly a minute of intense thought before she realized what it was. She had released the wind over the water—and yet the water hadn't shown any effect. No ripples, no waves, no movement at all. She knelt down and poked it—and felt cold stone, perfectly dry, beneath her fingertips. She snorted and stood up. She took a step onto it and there did not seem to be any water there. So she confidently strode toward the first of the two rusty doors. She didn't have to go far before she saw that it had iron bars across it. When she turned around, disappointed, she froze upon seeing a perfect reflection of herself standing there, about three yards away.

Perfect, that is, except for one detail. The girl—her skin, her hair, her eyes, her clothing, everything about her—was entirely black, like shadows ripped from the deepest reaches of the Shadow Temple. Mera raised a hand and waved experimentally. The mirror image waved back.

"'Conquer your inner darkness,'" Mera said with a chuckle and a smile. "I get it now. All right, Cliché of the Year. Sorry, but you've got to go." Wishing she'd brought that fantastic épée, she instead drew a lovely short sword that had been given to her for testing. It really wasn't anything special. It wasn't made of anything expensive, and it didn't bear the markings of any craftsmen. But it was expertly crafted (and maintained), and it had an excellent balance. Fit her hand nicely, too.

Surprise, surprise, it turned out the Shadow Mera had a similar blade tucked away for just such an occasion. She brandished it in a reflected mimic of Mera's own posture.

Keeping the sword in a casual but prepared position, Mera walked toward the Shadow Mera until their faces were inches apart.

"What are you?" Mera murmured, and saw a silent imitation on the Shadow Mera's lips. "Well," Mera said flatly, "I'm getting tired of all this preliminary garbage." As she finished talking, she winked inconspicuously.

Beautiful. There had been no reaction to—and no imitation of—the gesture. So at least Mera knew she wasn't fighting a mirror image of herself. She hopped backward and, with no effort at a salute, thrust the sword experimentally, down toward the shadow's legs. She didn't try to cut her opponent, and didn't even come close, but the gesture was mirrored with a much more enthusiastic stab that grazed her left shin.

"I don't think so," Mera said. "Do you have any idea how difficult it is to wash these things? I was playing nice, but all bets are off." And she stabbed, skilfully danced to the side of the mirroring thrust, and sliced upward to cut at the shadow's exposed arm. With a quick downward slash to match, she effectively disabled the shadow's arm.

Apparently, the shadow had also decided that all bets were off, because she now came at Mera with no attempt to imitate the Sheikah trainee. Mera ducked under a crazed swing of the dark sword but screamed as the back swing sliced across her lower ribcage, then sent a quick blast of hurricane-strength wind at the shadow, using the Faroke power swelling within her. Then she tapered off the rest of the power by pouring some of the excess into her blade. As the shadow came at her once again, Mera prayed that she'd be able to pull off her special technique.

Mera pulled the sword back, continued to drain power into the sword, and finally ripped it horizontally with all of her might. The blade extended so far that it twanged off the walls of the seemingly endless room. Her goal, though, was soundly accomplished; the shadow had been completely halved. It spilled a black substance out over the floor for an instant before it burst into purple flame and vanished.

As soon as the shadow had disappeared, Mera fell to her knees and grasped at the wound in her side. Her hand came away wet with blood. The green fabric over the wound looked black with the soaked-in blood, and the gash through the fabric revealed a wound worse than Mera could ever remember seeing at the Académie.

There was so much blood on her hands. Was it really all hers? That shadow chick had disappeared. Mera touched the wound again. So much blood, just flowing. Was she stuck here? How could she get out? Wasn't her fight the test? It seemed like the room was fading. Why wasn't her blood mixing with the water? Oh, she'd forgotten. There was no water. Just all this _blood_. How did they make the ground look like water? And what was with the two doors? Why was she bleeding so much? It hadn't felt like such a bad injury when she'd been cut…

"Mera?"

"She's injured."

"She may be wounded, but she has passed the test."

"Wounded? She's got a hole in her stomach. Fetch me some bandages. Is there a Nayrusé or Disai Sheikah in the vicinity?"

"I think Rak was here a few minutes ago. I'll see if I can't find him."

"Mera? Can you hear me?"

I don't mind blood, really, I don't. It's just that there's so _much_ of it. Oh... _Nn..._ _Nngh_... Oh, please, don't let the world spin like that again...

"You'll be fine. Rak is here. Rak, she's injured, and it's a pretty decent slice. You know what to do."

"Sure thing. Just relax, Mera, if you can hear me."

That's very warm. It kind of tingles. I feel like I'm drifting again. Why do I feel like I'm drifting? I don't want to drift. This isn't cool. Amrick isn't going to want to date a girl who keeps drifting like this. Am I going to pass out again?

Mera heard a startled laugh.

"Well, Din's magic tends to be warm. You're drifting because you've lost a lot of blood. I don't think you'll pass out, but I can safely say you'll survive. And I don't know what kind of advice to give you about Amrick."

Oops. Did I say that out loud? Man, did you see all that blood? It was like… A lot of blood. Like, a _lot_. A lot of blood. I don't think I've ever seen that much blood in one place before. I cut myself with a knife, once. Not on purpose. I was making something. Maybe just a sandwich. But I cut myself. I bled. But not this much. This is a _lot_ of blood. That girl can really swing a sword.

Mera smiled weakly and let out a laugh.

Not as good as me, though. Did you see me nail her? Packed that sword full of the Sacred Wind, and _pow_, she ate it like nothing. I won, I think. Did I win? I did hear someone say I passed the test. That means I won! That's awesome. But not if I pass out. What will it look like if I win and then I pass out? I should wait till later. Then I'll pass out. Or just wait till dark, and I can go to sleep. Sleep sounds nice. There was so much _blood._

"Yes, you won," and the voice sounded mildly amused.

I know your voice. You're Rak. I like you. You're cool. How come I can't see you?

"Don't worry about it. Try to keep quiet. Breathe slowly and evenly. In… and out. In… and out. That's good, Mera. Keep doing that. Don't talk. Don't think, if you can help it. Just breathe evenly, and the Disai healing magic will flow through you swiftly and quickly. You'll be up in fifteen minutes, if you keep this up. Good girl, just breathe slowly and evenly."

This is really boring. Fifteen minutes?

"Yes, fifteen minutes. I'm sorry. Come on, just breathe. And breathe. And breathe. Good."

It's getting warm again. I like it. I think I might just pass out on purpose. It's very comfy right here. I'm on a floor, aren't I? It's very comfy. Probably because I still feel like I'm drifting. Ooh, that's very warm.

"Her breathing is becoming more regular. Her speech isn't slurring as much, either. Just a few more minutes, and she won't need me anymore. Mera? Just keep this up for a few more minutes."

A warm tingling sensation grew ever hotter in Mera's belly where she'd been cut, until it was almost unbearable. Then it faded like nothing, and the wound felt frozen. Suddenly aware of her situation, she sat bolt upright—and bit back a scream as she did so. Rak, still knelt over her, caught her and easily lowered her back down. She saw that her shirt had been removed (but not her bandeaux), her wound dressed; and as she'd shot upright, blood had once again begun to seep through the bandages.

"Come on, Mera," he said. "Just rest for a minute, okay? This isn't a skinned elbow or a paper cut. You need to be careful with it." He pressed a hand to the bandage, and the warmness grew again. The visible blood dried quickly, while the pain in the wound itself faded almost instantaneously. He kept the hand there for nearly another two minutes, eyes closed, canting intently, and when he'd finished, he removed the bandage completely. There was a positively disgusting scar there, but no actual broken skin. He assured her that the scar would fade within hours.

Mera finally took the time to look about, and saw that she, Rak, and No'ua were the only people left in the room.

"Well, you passed," No'ua said with a chuckle, "but I don't think anybody will let you live this down for a long time to come."

- - -

Mera rubbed absentmindedly at her scar for the entire trek back to her apartment. It seemed Rak was right. By the time she reached her own door, the scar was half as obvious as it had been when the bandage had been removed. Mera pushed the door open and entered the apartment.

"Hey, pretty lady," came a familiar and not unwelcome voice as she shut the door. She turned to see Amrick sitting on the side of her bed. He had an obvious but not bulky bandage across his neck, as if his jugular vein had been nicked, and a black eye. Mera didn't need to ask.

"Testing," he said proudly. "I passed. I heard about you. Nice souvenir," he said, pointing to her scar. She shook her head.

"I'm so tired," Mera said, and laid face-down on the bed. She buried her face in the pillow.

"Hey," Amrick said softly. Mera turned her head to look at him. "Are you all right?"

She nodded. "I'm fine. Like I said. Just dead tired."

Amrick smiled. "Don't you want to hear about the battle scars from _my_ test?" he said, baring his throat.

"Let me guess," Mera said. "You punched him in the face, then you tried for an overly ambitious move and nearly got your own head cut off. Then you realized what you were fighting and managed to finish the fight without another serious injury."

He laughed out loud and nodded. "More or less."

Mera rolled onto her back and sat up lazily. With an uncharacteristically playful giggle, she grabbed Amrick's hand and pulled him toward her. She pulled him a little further than she'd intended, but wasn't about to remedy the mistake when she found herself face to face with Amrick, her breasts against his chest, one of his arms 'accidentally' draped across her back, both of her eyes locked onto both of his.

"You shouldn't tease like this," Amrick said. "It's unprofessional." His voice cracked audibly.

She moved her face even closer to his and murmured, "Would it be more professional if I jumped on top of you right now?"

There was a long pause, and Amrick smiled. "If I said yes, would you do it?"

"Don't say anything," Mera murmured, falling back into the pillow. "I've had a day full of people talking and talking and talking, but saying nothing. Let your hands do the talking. Let your eyes do the talking."

"I've got a better idea," Amrick said. He slid down to lie beside her and let his arm fall across her back, holding her close. "Why don't we just let our hearts have a nice, long conversation, so we can hear what they have to say? We might learn something new."

Mera stared at him for a few seconds, then inclined her head to kiss him—briefly—on the lips. "Like what?"

"Like the fact that I don't just care about your lips, or your body, or your sexy eyes. Like how much I adore your personality, your sense of humour, your sense of ethics—I don't just like you for your body, Mera, as much as I act the part of the typical, sex-crazed man. I lo—" He broke off in the middle of the word and closed his eyes as if embarrassed.

"What?" Mera prompted.

"Nothing," Amrick murmured.

Mera was silent. "Amrick," she said after a long time.

"What?"

"...Nothing," she said quietly. Amrick pulled her close, then, and kissed her. When he finally broke the kiss, Mere's eyes were closed. She almost seemed to be crying. Amrick held her close until she fell asleep. Then he quietly gathered what few things he had brought with him, and left.

El apunte de escritor!

"The note of the writer!" (Dun dun dunnnnnnnnn, dramatic reverrrrrrrrrrrb!)

Keski here again, spell-checking for Bard as well as commenting on these chapters, which I wrote millions of years ago. This is it, above! This is the scene where Bard wanted Mera and Amrick to have sex! XD

And THAT'S why you should be grateful that he's not actually writing the narrative.

I suppose I should admit that I felt a somewhat guilty pleasure when Mera got shanked. Bwa ha ha ha.


	4. Chapter III: The King

The Conqueror

Chapter III: The King

The deafening silence was broken only by the periodic rattling of chains, shouts, even pleas—though this last only came when the one making them had fallen into an occasional madness that he had come to embrace over the years, a madness that took him away from himself, away from what he knew he had become. He sat in the centre of a darkened room, bounded by scores of chains that were slung over him, around him, around his arms, hands, legs, body, neck—he was lashed soundly to the ground, and nothing short of a key would break these bindings.

"How the mighty have fallen," came a deep, chuckling voice.

"Come to torment me again?" hissed the chained man. "Come to suck all the satisfaction you can get out of my plight?"

A shadowed man stepped into the room—although 'shadowed' is not the best way to describe him, for in truth, he radiated light of a kind. It was an illumination to rival the sun, and at the same time, the hood covering his face cast shadows that seemed to extend beyond his own body, beyond what logic dictated would be possible.

He sauntered across the floor to a shadow that seemed more bulky than the rest in the room—and as he approached, the shadow receded to reveal a throne directly before the man in chains, a throne that seemed at once black and white; for in one instant, it would be an angular, dark design of blackest stone, of dark, polished ebony that all the gold in the world could not have purchased. In the next instant, though, it would seem to be a blindingly bright throne, constructed of what could only be human bones, burnished to a darkly brilliant lustre. The man took a seat in the throne and stared contemptuously at the chained man on the floor, who glared defiantly back.

At a slight gesture of the seated man's hand, the chains binding the other man ripped him to the stone floor. His head rebounded off of the floor, and for a moment, he did not move. The seated man was not worried, however; in a place like this, the chained man could not die. His bones could be torn from his flesh and discarded, and he would yet live.

"I have come," the seated man responded finally, "merely to entertain myself." He eyed the man on the floor appraisingly. "Do you know what I am, Link?"

"You are a liar," the man replied. The chains rattled as he sat up.

The man in the throne raised a silver eyebrow. "When have I lied to you, Link? No, I never lied. You donned that mask thinking that you could use my power and pay no price. You lied to yourself, Link. Nothing comes without a price."

Link spat on the floor. "Riend," he said, twisting his mouth around as if disgusted by the thought of the name passing through his lips. "A filthy name for a filthy creature."

Riend only smiled. "I was once much more," he mused. "Yes… Once, I was much more than what you see before you; I was more than your precious princess; I was more than you can know.

"I was the second of five sons, once."

"A plague on the beast that willingly inflicted you on the world," Link said. Riend twitched a finger, and Link was forced into prostration once more.

"You know nothing of the world," Riend growled. "All you know is the physical, and your precious three Goddesses. Do you think that they are the ultimate? They are nothing, compared to what lies beyond Sacré." He frowned. "But that is not for you to know," he said finally.

Link's head shot up. "You bind me here, you tell me nothing, and you come to torture me with meaningless words!" Link said. "Why can you not let me die?"

Reind smiled amiably. "Because," he said, "as long as the mind lives, the body will do as I wish. If either the mind or the body dies, the other will be crippled—or destroyed."

Link shook his head, lowered his eyes once more.

Riend's smile never faded. "Now, cease your meaningless interruptions, or I shall bind your tongue as well."

Link said nothing.

"Five sons," Riend muttered, "yes. The second of five sons of Twilight… But you needn't know what Twilight is. Not yet. Perhaps not ever, if everything goes as planned, but then, things never go as planned, do they?"

"Now you interrupt yourself," Link muttered.

Riend laughed. "So I do," he said. "So I do. Ah, my brothers. Shokan, the False Prophet; Sa'dyeth, the Usurper; Chardel, the Desroyer. And do you know who my only older brother was?" He paused, not expecting an answer. "His name was Majora." Link tensed, but didn't respond. "Ah, we were such adamant rivals back then—but I was always the better of the two of us. I was more powerful. I was luckier. And"—he laughed—"I was handsomer." His face darkened with memories of time long past, times that might have been happier times. "But Majora grew tired of his inferiority. He deceived my younger brothers, lied to them, turned them against me. Do you know what it is like, Link, to look into your brothers' eyes and see pure hatred?" He sighed and drummed his fingers against the arm of the throne.

Link scoffed. "I have never had a brother," he said dryly. His eyes gleamed in the darkness, and Riend could see the madness creeping into his heart, his mind, his voice. "Riend, must you speak so easily with me, a man in chains? Can you not give me—something? Some taste of freedom? Anything but this eternity fettered in chains? Anything?"

Riend only smiled. "Do not forget what transpires in the real world, Link," he said. "The Princess Zelda will be visiting soon, and you know how I fancy her, don't you, Link? Her long, flowing blonde hair, like the finest silk; her fair, smooth skin; her perfect body—"

"Enough!" Link cried. "I will be silent."

Riend smiled widely. "Thank you. Now, as I was saying. Majora and my brothers sealed me away into that mask you finally found. I was hidden away, but Shokan spoke to Twilight of what had happened." Riend smiled with the memory, but it was a bitter, vindictive smile. "Majora refused to reveal the location of my mask, my prison—so Twilight locked Majora and Chardel and Sa'dyeth away into their own masks, as punishment. Whereas Majora had hurled my mask into the farthest reaches of non-existence, what is known only as Enfer, Twilight scattered my three imprisoned brothers across your world, your universe—Sacré. Are you beginning to understand, Link?"

Link did not respond, his eyes on the floor. Riend laughed softly.

"Do you remember, Link, the legend of a time when a wizard came to Hyrule? His name was Agahnim, and he was a power-hungry fool who would stop at nothing to rule, not just Hyrule, but whatever he could get his greedy hands on. He broke an ancient seal, wrought havoc in Hyrule, and forced a Hylian hero, much like yourself, to pierce through the veil into what was, at the time, called the Dark World. Do you remember that legend, Link?"

Link inclined his head slightly. "…Yes."

"The Dark World is Enfer, Link, or at least a near enough shadow of it. I was imprisoned in the Dark World—and when that hero pierced the veil, when he and Agahnim pierced through the veil, they allowed me to come through to Sacré, to this world. It was still years before you, Link, actually found me—and tried to use me, as if I were some kind of tool." He smiled. "And here we are now. A beautiful story, yes?"

Link said nothing, but he stared at Riend with a hate that transcended words. Riend ignored the glare and continued.

"And now, do you know, my brother, Shokan, the one who stood up for me against my three traitorous brothers, has come to join me? I am the Conqueror, Link. I have conquered you, I have conquered Termina, and very soon, I will conquer all of Sacré. And then… Then, we shall see about conquering what lies beyond the veil."

Riend's words sank into a faint echo. He faded into the shadows as if he had melted into the throne itself, which was soon enveloped by shadows once more.

Link's screams echoed through the hallways and corridors of his own mind. Nobody heard him.

- - -

Riend was smiling widely before he ever opened his blue, blue eyes. Pushing the still-unfamiliar blonde hair out of his eyes, he got out of the lush, royal bed and stretched lazily. In seconds, a slave stood at his side, clean garb in hand. Riend took it without ever actually acknowledging the slave's presence. Any man who had witnessed Riend in his bedclothes would have been summarily executed, but of course, slaves weren't men. Riend dismissed the slave's offers to help him dress—after all, he was hardly an invalid—and proceeded to don the royal garb.

Admiring himself in the mirror, his only regret was that it was not his own body displayed in the clothing. The yellow hair, the blue eyes, the pale skin—it was not his. Still, the tunic was of an intense blue that could earn the ocean's envy, with an intricate silver trim. Beneath the tunic was an undertunic of a dull yellow which showed only at the neck and sleeves. His fitted trousers were blue, but a shade darker than his tunic. His boots were practical, but elegant, and would not be out of place on a King's feet—which was exactly where they were. As an afterthought, he shrugged into a deep red jacket just barely darker than the colour of blood. He buttoned it halfway, and let his tunic show at the chest.

"My Liege," came an uncertain voice from beyond the door to the corridor. "I am Tayrl. I have been told that my Liege has summoned me?"

Riend pondered, then remembered. The previous evening, Riend had ordered that the man be summoned as soon as he had awoken.

"Yes," he said. "The Audience Chamber, please."

"Certainly, my Liege."

Riend examined himself for a few more minutes, then made his way to the door.

The corridor was empty. Riend made his way to the room known as the Audience Chamber, a room far removed from his own bedchamber. The Audience Chamber was a massive room, with a throne at one end and a slew of seats at the other. Obviously, it was not originally intended for a two-person conversation.

"My Liege," came Tayrl's voice almost immediately upon Riend's entrance into the room. Riend looked toward the voice, and saw Tayrl scrambling to his feet.

"Tayrl," Riend said. "I am told that there are things that need seeing to. You know what these things are; I wish your assistance in ensuring that they are seen to. Now, walk with me as we talk." Riend turned toward the door without waiting to see if Tayrl followed.

"Certainly, King Link."

The name hit Riend as solidly as a blow to the chest, though he didn't show it. He'd been using name for years—nearly two decades, now—but it still seemed strange to go by a name other than his own. Majora was the Deceiver; perhaps he would fall into such a situation naturally. But for Riend, it was an alien thing.

"Do not speak my name," he said softly. Tayrl paled. Riend didn't stop walking, though, and Tayrl kept up beside him.

"O-of course, my Liege," Tayrl said quickly. Riend stared at Tayrl expectantly, until the man remembered what he was supposed to be doing. "Ah. Right. My apologies, my Liege. First, there is the small matter of the peasant uprising…"

"Can you not simply appease them? "

"They are demanding that some of my Liege's laws be changed."

Riend sighed. "I try to be generous with these people," he muttered. "Capture and execute the leaders of the uprising. If that doesn't quell it, I shall have to make a public appearance."

"Yes, my Liege." Tayrl made a note on a pad that he produced from his pocket. "And the Princess and her cortège? We have received word that they have arrived at the border and are awaiting my Liege's approval for entry."

Riend frowned. "Of course they are to be allowed into the country," he said, and offered nothing more. Tayrl hesitated, then made another note.

"Koholint," Riend said then.

"Ah, yes." Tayrl nodded. "The armies have been marshalled and are ready to set sail at a moment's notice. Precisely one-third of them, as my Liege ordered."

"Then send them out through the Great Bay, then north, to Koholint."

"Shall we send a messenger to Koholint, my Liege?"

Riend looked at Tayrl as if perplexed. "I mean to conquer Koholint, Tayrl, not to have tea with them."

Tayrl paled again. "Ah—yes, my Liege."

"And, Tayrl, has Arehlanen come to her senses yet?" The Gerudo woman, Arehlanen, had been the first of the Gerudo to pledge allegiance to Riend—and it had been a shock, too, that one of the Gerudo would pledge allegiance to anyone not of their blood. Arehlanen, however, was the leader of a group of Gerudo pirates that had their headquarters somewhere near the Great Bay. When Arehlanen had laid her arms bare before the King of Termina, all of the Gerudo beneath her had followed suit without question. He had more faith in those Gerudo, in fact, than he had in his own men.

"Koholint's defences are weak," he mused idly. "Perhaps the Gerudo alone will be enough."

"Koholint is weak, my Liege," Tayrl said, "but it is big nonetheless. No matter how powerful they are, a handful of Gerudo cannot take an island as large as Koholint."

Riend frowned, and nodded. "Still, it would be a waste to leave Termina with inadequate defences. Send the Gerudo as a first attack wave; they will likely wipe out anything in their path. Reduce the number of Termina troops to a fifth of the available forces, and send them. With the Gerudo."

Tayrl nodded and scribbled. "Yes, my Liege."

"And I want Arehlanen to command them."

Tayrl hesitated in his scribbling. "Arehlanen has little Terminian military rank, my Liege," he pointed out. Riend shrugged.

"She is a fleet admiral," Riend said.

"No, she isn—"

Riend cut Tayrl off with a surprised stare that had Tayrl trying to swallow nervously and clear his throat at the same time.

"Ah—yes—of course—if my Liege wishes," he said finally. "I shall relay the news of her promotion immediately."

Riend nodded. "Now, as I said: Fleet Admiral Arehlanen is to lead the assault on Koholint."

"Of course, my Liege."

They were in an obscure, east wing of the castle.

'Castle' was a loose way to describe the fortress in which they stood. Once, it had been known as Clock Town. Now, Riend scoffed at the idea that his fortress had once served as an entire town. He had had the entire thing redesigned after his takeover. The only thing he had _not_ done was to demolish everything and rebuild an entire castle; nevertheless, it was hard to recognize any remnants of the town. Even the main plaza had been changed drastically—the stones had been pulled up, the ground beneath fertilized and sown with grass seed until it was now a vast courtyard.

Riend and Tayrl were nowhere near this courtyard, though—they were in an obscure east wing of the fortress, in a corridor that ran along an outside wall. Riend stopped at a window and gazed out. Tayrl stood beside him.

"Soon," Riend murmured as if to himself. "Soon, I will win. Soon."

Tayrl was silent as Riend stared out over the land, to the west, to the Great Bay, and further, to the land known as Hyrule. A land that held more memories for Riend than even Riend himself probably knew. A land that had endured from the beginning of time—the beginning of any time that mattered, at least—and would probably endure until the end.

A land that Riend _would_ have. No matter _what_ the cost.

El apunte de escritor

"Note of the writer!" (Dun dun dunnnnnnn, dramatic reverrrrrrb!)

Yo! This is The Great and Powerful Keski here. I actually wrote this chapter a looooooong time ago, and only just remembered to upload it. (Thankfully, my readers don't know where I live. Most of them, anyway. . ) I'm the guy that does all the REAL work around here. (Well... ahem) So, you probably have already heard this, but Bard does all of the plot-writing and outlines, as well as coming up with characters. I do the character names, mostly, and I do all of the actual writing when it comes to the narrative and dialogue itself. (Be grateful that I'M the one doing the narrative. Bard wanted Mera and Amrick to have sex in the second chapter. cough Anyway, if you have questions about plot, ask Bard, but it you have questions about writing technique, The Great and Powerful Keski is your man. (I do have an account here on with plenty of my own (unfinished) work uploaded.

Oh, by the way, Arehlanen was my creation. Bard had no part in creating her and I'm very proud of her so be nice to her:P

Very long author's note, but now I'm done. Later all. :) (Yes, I do like my emoticons. You wanna fight about it?)

The man behind the Story:

I DID NOT! Well, maybey a little... It's not like I was wanting a detailed report. Maybey a hint as Amryk undid her buttons...BUT NO FURTHER! Yay for plotlines! Honestly, he thinks he has it tough, but these story points are hard work. I have to build a whole skeletal structure from scratch, he just throws the meat on. If it it weren't for him, all you would have is an outline saying. Mera tests, gets wounded, makes love to Amrick. Not very exciting, is it? Yes, Keski makes this a great fanfic, but all that meat would just fall off if my plotlines were not in place! SO THERE!


	5. Chapter IV: The Cortège

The Conquerer

Chapter IV: The Cortège

The lush grass of King Link's swamp-turned-pasture flowed past the Princess's cortège like the rolling waves of the ocean they had crossed to get here. The Princess's advisors had counseled her against making port in the actual country of Termina, so they had instead sailed south along the coast, docking south of Termina in a remote land known to its inhabitants as Holodrum. The natives had been friendly, offering the visiting Princess a great deal of hospitality as she passed through their nation. They had docked on the southern beach, and then worked their way up through plains—and a brief tundra region that Zelda could still remember with a brief shudder—before skirting the northern mountains and entering this area: Woodfall.

According to the locals, this region used to be nothing but inhospitable marshlands, until the enterprising King Link took it upon himself to arrange for the area to be terraformed. He'd had the swamps drained, the land cultivated, and countless trees cut down. Of course, before he could do any of that, he'd had to deal with the region's inhabitants—the surly Deku, who, apparently, had had a veritable Kingdom of their own in this land. This information surprised Zelda, who had always regarded the Deku as wily creatures, somewhat intelligent but incapable of organized society in any real sense. Still, they hadn't stood up well against Link, once he'd begun his personal war against them.

Link… How odd, that she should think so familiarly of him, after knowing him for so short of a time. She'd met him—what? Thirty years past? She'd sent him on a task, and met him again only as he completed it, and she had no knowledge of the intervening events. Oh, what a strange time. She had spent long hours wondering what interactions Link might have had with her future self, but had always resigned herself to not knowing. And she certainly couldn't discuss her relationship with Link with anyone else, for obvious reasons. But what a surprise! First to find out that there was _land_ across the Great Sea—then to find out that it was a populated _country_—and _then_ to find out that _Link_ was the King of this country! It seemed like too much of a coincidence to dismiss. But she supposed she would know when they arrived in Novus Aevum.

The Princess actually viewed the passing terrain through a window in her carriage, looking out onto the changing scenery with tired eyes and, perhaps, a more tired heart. Outwardly, she was as beautiful as she had ever been: Her skin was no less fair than the day she had taken her father's throne; her hair no less wheat-yellow; and her wardrobe, well, it had not diminished in elegance. Today, her skirts were divided for riding, though she doubted she would be taking advantage of that particular detail. Well, you never knew.

"Fascinating, isn't it?" came the thoughtful voice of Sito Midas, who sat in the carriage across from Zelda, facing her. Concealed in his Nayrusé Sheikah garb and a dark blue cloak that enshrouded him like a blanket, only his face—and only most of that—was visible, staring out the open window at the land they passed while riding northward.

In the near distance, an average-sized flat-topped mountain rose out of the surrounding plains. As local folklore would have it, the place was some kind of magical spring, and because of that, it stubbornly refused to submit to the terraforming that had changed the land around it. For about a mile in every direction, the land around that smallish mountain was as wet and marshy as it had ever been. The last remnants of the Deku tribe supposedly made their home in that tiny region, and were unbelievably fierce to any human intruders in their last refuge. King Link's war, it seemed, had not been easy on them.

"A little disheartening," Zelda responded quietly. _He saved Hyrule… Possibly the world. Has he defeated the menace posed by Ganondorf, only to pose a similar menace himself? I hope that word-of-mouth has not related his actions accurately, for if he is truly the tyrant that the stories paint… But I suppose I never really knew him, did I?_

"Oh, the terraforming?" Sito said. "Perhaps it doesn't speak very much to the benevolence of this King… Link, was it? An odd name. But no, my Honored Lady, I was speaking of this country's ecosystem, its culture, its land. Such a diverse place. Our dear kingdom has many different lands within its bounds, but this place… For such a small kingdom, it spans an incredible range of climates and landscapes. Natural swamp here, though it has been made into plains; a wasteland to the east, according to officials; and if the stories are to be trusted, even a vast tundra and ice-capped mountainous region to the north! I almost wish we could abandon this ambassadorial trip and simply explore!"

The Princess laughed despite herself, and turned her eyes back to the window. The flat-topped swamp mountain loomed on the horizon, a lawless rebel spitting in the face of the King's rapidly-growing empire. She wondered what really caused it to resist the King's terraforming. Was it truly magic? Lately, it almost seemed that magic was fading from the world. The Gorons had become more reclusive, the Zora more tight-lipped, and the Deku positively xenophobic. Could it be that they had heard of what was happening here, in this obscure corner of the world, and decided to shut their doors to humans? Zelda hoped not. She hoped this King was not the monster he was beginning to seem. She hoped… She hoped… She hoped so many things, but hope did not mean much to a monarch. Not in practice, anyway.

"Oh, do stop brooding, Princess," Sito said. "I only made you smile a moment ago, and there you are again, sulking. What has got you so down, my Lady?"

Such familiarity could get a man beheaded in previous regencies, and could still result in imprisonment. But Sito was an old friend of the Princess's, with emphasis on the 'old', and she had always tolerated his quirks. After all, calling her 'my Lady' and speaking to her as a friend were not the only unusual—and slightly illegal—things he'd ever done in her presence. Somehow, his demeanor made it all seem somehow… acceptable? Amusing, even. She was inclined to think he did it on purpose, but that didn't make her like him any less.

"I had hoped that the King of a newly-discovered nation would be a benevolent and kind ruler…" Zelda mused, "but I suppose we would not be so lucky."

"Ah, we know little about him as of yet. Only that he has a taste for order. Perhaps his kingdom has a surplus of population? If we had the same problem, we might well resort to deforestation of the Deku Forest and even the Lost Woods, in order to house more people. Everything is dictated by circumstance, my Lady, especially for monarchs such as King Link and yourself. I would advise you not to judge him too harshly until you speak with him."

Zelda nodded. "You give good advice, as ever, Thane Midas."

He made a sour face, and Zelda could not suppress another laugh. He hated being addressed by his royal title—or any at all, in fact.

"I try," he said wryly, "But unfortunately, I often fall short of perfection, as do we all. I urge you always, my Lady, not to regard me as a fount of infinite and perfect wisdom. We must all make our own decisions, and we must all sift for our own truth through the desert of falsehoods which the Goddesses have given us."

Zelda smiled. "Another kernel of wisdom from our resident sage."

Sito actually cursed under his breath, and she saw his lips go round in preparation for him to address her as 'Woman'. But he stopped himself, grinned, and shook his head. "You'll not make me drop my guard so easily, Princess! I shall be off now, and allow you some time alone—as much as you can steal, that is, before you've another visitor." He rose, and silently moved to the door of the still-moving carriage. The door opened, and Zelda shook her head.

"Still can't be bothered to have an ordinary exit?" she asked him wryly, and he only grinned and touched his forehead in a casual salute to Zelda, before hopping backward out of the carriage. She had no doubt that he would be out of sight before he hit the ground, but she didn't bother to try and watch. She'd seen too many of his Shiekah tricks to be particularly fascinated by them anymore. And, after all, she'd seen some of their inner workings during the brief time she'd spent in hiding in the Académie Sheikah as a child, so it wasn't as if their antics were new to her.

With something of a start, Zelda realized Sito had been right—how she was brooding! Barely a moment on her own, and already deep in thought! She hadn't always been so… _introverted_. No. Once, she had been a woman of action, a woman of means. Had her years as a monarch turned her into a sulky, quiet woman? A monarch who spent more time thinking than working?

No! What she needed was time out in the open air, and an activity to take her mind off of… well, everything. She rose and started to move for the door, but scarcely a moment later, she heard a muffled, "Whoa!" And barely had time to grab the lip of the window before the carriage came to an unusually abrupt halt. As the carriage settled back, Zelda was ingloriously thrown off her balance and flopped back down into her seat. She immediately began to rise again, struggling to straighten her regalia before someone opened the door to—

"My Lady? My Lady, are you awake in there? I should like to speak with you."

Oh. Never mind. She sat back and nodded to herself with a small sigh. The door to the carriage opened, and her son, Tueur, was visible beyond it, astride his silver-maned black charger, Gith. The boy was scarcely 17, and already able to control the beast as if it were an extension of his own body.

"Ah, were you about to leave the carriage?" he asked.

"No, no," she said with a concealed sigh. "Not if you would like to talk, dear boy."

He concealed his disdain well, but she knew he hated any form of affectionate address, even from his mother. He'd never even had a lover, though his gallant and adventurous manner had earned him many feminine callers over the years. Zelda hadn't had the heart to marry him off as her father had done to her. (Her marriage had been a necessity, of course, but she had never truly loved Sidrua, even unto his dying breath.)

"Ha! As if I would allow you the chance to rope me into some political game, my Lady!" Zelda, in her turn, winced at his term of address. Technically it was correct for a member of the Royal Family to address another as such, but sometimes she wished he would call her 'mom,' or at least 'mother.' He hadn't used either of those words for years. "Come and ride with me! I have been aching for some company in the saddle, but these Shiekah guards are too intent on their duty to entertain me with a little sport. Here, I'll—" He leaned to the side and called to someone, "Bring the Princess's mare! Her Ladyship wishes to ride for a while, and enjoy the air."

"Tueur," Zelda began, but stopped and shook her head with a soft laugh. "Thank you, dear boy." She climbed down out of the carriage with the hand of a retainer to steady her, and then mounted her white mare, Alba, with as much assistance. (She realized with a private smile, as her skirts settled about her legs, that her earlier musings on the subject had, indeed, been incorrect.)

"Come! Let us ride ahead. It really riles up our Shiekah guard when I do that; I cannot wait to see how they react when we both do it!"

Laughing despite the rebellious suggestion, Zelda glanced over at the nearest of the guards, who rode a dappled grey charger behind the carriage. He regarded her with a wry smile, as if to say, '_He's right, but go ahead._'

Nodding almost imperceptibly, she turned back to her son. "Yes," she said, "I think that sounds like a capital idea."

So the Princess and her Princely son drove their horses out in front of the Sheikah guard—the visible parts of it, anyway; there were probably already advance forces as far ahead as Novus Aevum, knowing how the stealthy Sheikah operated—and spent upwards of three hours riding to and fro ahead of the cortège, with only a minimum of dialogue between them. Eventually, though, Zelda pulled up, exhausted from the day's activities, and her son's charger reared theatrically beside her.

"Tired, my Lady?" he asked, and his expression belied his casual tone. "Shall we go back?"

"No," Zelda said, wiping unceremoniously at her forehead with her sleeve. Conventions be damned, she probably already smelled like a horse wrangler; no sense acting like anything else. "No, I simply need to slow down a bit." So saying, she pushed her mare forward into a slow walk, patting at Alba's neck as she did so. The mare whinnied appreciatively, and Zelda shook her head at realizing she hadn't brought any treats for the horse.

"Ah," Tueur said. "Then we'll walk." He caught up and held pace with her.

"And talk," Zelda said, ignoring Tueur's wince. "Tueur… I know why you are unsatisfied with your lot, but you must at least try to act the part while we are here. At least in Novus Aevum. I have been hearing… disturbing things about this King's methods, and I think it would be best if we do not present a vulnerable front to him."

"Vulnerable?" Tueur repeated questioningly, but he knew what she meant. "'Solidarity in the face of adversity,' hm?" he quoted from one of the texts he'd had to read as a part of his Princely instruction. Zelda nodded in response.

"Yes. If he thinks there is internal strife, he may decide that Hyrule is ripe for invasion… I do not know whether we could prove him wrong, but the outcome of such a conflict is entirely beside the point. A war would devastate both lands, and allowing one to begin is unacceptable, both for you and for me."

"I understand," he said, but the cold feeling in the pit of Zelda's stomach told her that perhaps he did not. Still, it wouldn't do to press the issue.

"And as to your studies," she began, to be interrupted with a scoff.

"I know, my Lady. I have been keeping up with them on the road. As well as can be expected, anyway, with all the work that is to be done."

It was Zelda's turn to scoff—but she refrained, instead quirking her lips in a small smirk. "The work that is to be done, Tueur, can be done by others, and should be , if you have other tasks which you must complete. Such as schoolwork. Your tutors are the best in the land, Tueur, but even they cannot teach you if you will not learn."

Tueur sighed breezily. "I know, my Lady. I know. But studying all the time… I need to be out in the sun, on a horse, with a sword in my hand. Preferably chasing something. I can't live on mathematics and politics and linguistics alone."

"Why not ask your tutors if you can study while riding? Surely they would not object to teaching you on horseback. The Princess herself is having such a conversation, is she not?"

Tueur seemed to consider this a moment. Then he gave a half-grin and said, "Perhaps. But you are looking a little faint, my Lady. I have tired you out quite enough for my liking. Shall we go back? I will even try to find Thane Midas, so that you can enjoy his conversation while you rest."

"Conversing with that man," Zelda said wryly, "is not rest. But, yes, we should go back. We are not as well protected, this far from the cortège."

"The Sheikah," Tueur said without missing a beat, "are everywhere. We are perfectly safe wherever we go, my Lady."

"Still," Zelda said just as smoothly, "I do not like the idea of invisible watchers. Let us go back to the carriage, and rest."

"Ah, you may do so if you wish, my Lady, but I think I should like to ride some more."

Zelda shrugged as if to say she was unsurprised and her plans unaffected, and then wheeled around to trot back to the cortège. She'd had quite enough activity for now; both physical and mental, and arguing with her son was much more exhausting than horseback riding.

- - -

"Don't you think it has great historical value, though?" Amrick had been starry-eyed and chatty ever since visiting the old Deku Palace.

"Historical value isn't worth much in light of what it took to get the palace away from the Deku," Mera replied firmly. "Think of how many must have died. And now it's just a tourist attraction!"

"But what a _magnificent_ tourist attraction!" Amrick persisted. "Think of all that could be learned from studying that palace. The cultural gems that could be hidden inside it!"

"What good will knowing about the culture do if we destroy that culture?" Mera retorted. A moment later, a voice from behind them caused Mera to jump.

"A wise sentiment, my dear Mera!" She almost startled her horse into a gallop, but managed to bring the beast under control. Amrick, she noted sourly, hadn't even appeared to react.

"Master Sito!" she exclaimed, pleased at seeing him. "Where have you been these past few days?"

The older man rode up between the two fledgling Sheikah as they parted to let him pass.

"Why, preparing for this very journey, of course. But as I was saying, though you have a wise sentiment, Mera, there is little to be accomplished by holding onto the past and regretting the mistakes of others. It would be difficult now to restore the Deku Palace to its former state, so why should the scientific community cripple itself by neglecting to learn what might be learned from it? After all, it wasn't scientists that waged war against the Deku. It was soldiers. If anyone should repent, it is the soldiers… Or perhaps their leader. But we shall see, will we not?"

Mera grunted to herself, disappointed that Sito had sided with Amrick. And of course, the boy didn't seem smug at all. Smug bastard.

"I regret that I wasn't able to oversee either of your tests," Sito said mournfully to both Amrick and Mera. "How did they go?"

"Amrick nearly got himself killed," Mera said with a grin, "but he managed all right."

"I! I almost got myself killed!" Amrick exclaimed, laughing. "_I_ returned to the testing chamber in need of a bandage. It was Mera here who required the attentions of a Disai healer for nearly twenty minutes before she could even rise. All in all, I think I did quite well."

Mera stuck out her tongue in a deliberately childish gesture, and Sito, instead of reprimanding their unprofessionalism as another elder might have done, simply laughed gleefully to himself.

"Oh, how I wish I could be young again. But my old bones serve me well enough, I suppose. We must all work with what we have been given, no? We'll be stopping soon, young ones. Enjoy your sleep tonight, for we will reach Novus Aevum tomorrow evening, and I daresay none of the Shiekah will get much sleep tomorrow night."

A lump wedged itself in Mera's throat, and it wouldn't go down, even when she swallowed. Novus Aevum… not a dark or evil name, but an ominous one, which seemed mysterious and foreboding, a shroud that covered the city it described, keeping it hidden until they were able to pierce that shroud and see what it really concealed.

"Stopping soon?" Amrick said abruptly. "Why would we stop soon? There's still a good hour or two of sunlight left. No reason to make camp so soon."

"Unless," Mera began, to be interrupted by the halting of the main bulk of the cortège up ahead. "Unless we've found somewhere better than the ground to sleep?"

- - -

The discovery of the ranch had been unexpected, but not exactly surprising. Its owner, one Grog, was very accommodating—once his foreign guests had offered to pay him for room and board for the night. As soon as the glittering ruppees of the Royal Family's coffers crossed his line of sight, he was eager to offer them all that he possessed. And, Mera thought rather oddly, he seemed very eager to show off a flock of cuccos that he'd raised on his farm.

Most of the Shiekah, of course, made camp as usual, in the open land within the bounds of the ranch; the Princess and her son, as well as many of her closest advisors and several very high-ranking guards, made their bed within the farmhouse. Once everything was set up, Mera and Amrick and the other low-ranking guards found themselves free of obligations until sunset, when they would need to return for myriad reasons.

Mera and Amrick spirited themselves away to explore, as did many other young guards. Mera suspected that Amrick had romance on his mind, but she was more interested in exploring. She had always liked farms, and this one was very large—at least, as far as she knew about farms. They went around the farmhouse and farther back into the property. Off to the right, there was a small barn, beside some cultivated ground that could be growing any number of vegetables. Mera thought she recognized stalks of corn, but she wouldn't have bet on it.

"Look, over there," Mera said, pointing off in the direction of the barn. As soon as Amrick looked, she deftly flicked a Deku nut at the ground, vanishing swiftly before he could recover from the temporary paralyzing effects. When time began to move again for Amrick, Mera was nowhere to be seen.

"Over here!" she called from across the grass. He looked, and saw her waving from a distance. Grinning, he took off after her.

It would take him a while to reach her, even with the speed and stealth of a Shiekah. Chuckling to herself, she readied another Deku nut and glanced around at her surroundings. There was a tree with some low-hanging branches nearby; that could be useful. Predictable, but useful nonetheless. And a large area of charred earth nearby that caught her eye. Had something burned down here? Another farmhouse, perhaps?

Her interest in the game suddenly lost, Mera palmed the Deku nut back into its hidden pouch within her sleeve, and walked toward the burnt earth. There was some rubble, but the fire must have been a long time ago, for there was little but slightly blackened earth left now. She paused at the edge of the area, looking out over it.

"Mera?" Amrick had caught up with her. She gestured out at the burnt remains of whatever had been here.

"A fire, do you think?" she asked.

"Probably. I did wonder why that farmhouse looked so new. Maybe it was built to replace this one."

Mera stepped forward, crunching a small piece of brittle wood beneath her soft but durable boots.

"Mera, we shouldn't be trespassing like this. We haven't been invited back here anyway, and walking around on the remains of this building… It's bad form, especially for a Sheikah."

Mera waved him off. "Something about this place," she said slowly, "feels odd. Like I know it. But it's not familiar. Not really."

"…Mera, we're in a country that was only recently discovered. You couldn't know this place."

"I know that," Mera shot back, "but maybe it's similar to a place I know back in Hyrule? Anyway, I want to figure out why I feel like I know this place." She glanced around. Half-recognized visions danced just beyond her grasp. Walls…? Yes, she could visualize them in place. She was walking down a short hallway, at the end of which… A door, leading to the backyard. But if she took a right… here… she'd find a staircase, up to… what?

She stared up the phantom staircase in her mind, wondering what she would find if she wandered up it. For a single, crazy moment, she thought she remembered bedrooms. Two of them. One of them—the one on the right—created such a rush of emotion in her that, without thinking, she lifted her foot and put it on the first step…and through it. Thrown off balance, she tumbled through the invisible staircase, which dissipated like steam in a harsh wind. She cursed and tried to correct her clumsy mistake with a roll, but a chunk of rock dug briefly into her shoulder and she yelped, contorting to avoid it, and subsequently falling flat on her back. She stared up at the sky, and sighed.

"You do have a talent," Amrick called from where she'd left him, "though for your sake, you might want to refrain from practicing it too much. Another accident like that, and no amount of time with a Disai healer will help you."

"Oh, shut up," Mera called, and started to sit up. As she reached an upright position, though, something directly in front of her caught her eye. Half-buried in the dirt and crumbled coals, a small metallic object glinted dully. She reached forward and plucked it out of the dirt.

It was a spoon. Once, it had been elegantly carved, but now it was so tarnished and worn that the original design on the handle was barely visible. But it was visible enough to set off a spark in Mera's mind. That spark hit a haystack, and the haystack went up in an instant.

_"No!" the little girl shouted. "I don't want to go! I don't like Uncle A——, and I won't go!"_

_"Please, Mera, we don't want to send you away either. But it's only for a season, don't you see? When the winter is over, you can come back, and everything will be like before. Isn't that okay?"_

_"No!" she persisted, tears running down her face. "I won't go with him!" She snatched a spoon off of the nearby dinner table and hurled it at the floor. It rebounded off of the hard wood, hit the wall, leaving a deep mark, and clattered to a halt at her mother's feet. The woman knelt, picked up the spoon, and sighed._

_"We don't have a choice, Mera… I'm sorry, but I know you'll understand eventually. It's just for a season."_

_"…No!…"_

"Mera…? Mera!"

The spoon in her hands receded from Mera as if it were floating away, though she could feel the warming metal in her hands.

And on the subject of feeling… She felt like she was drifting.

_Oh, no._

A distant and rapidly fading "Mera!" was the last thing she heard before she hit the dirt.

El apunte de escritor

"The Note of the Writer!" (Dun dun dunnnnnnnnn, dramatic reverrrrrrrb!)

They said it wouldn't happen. They said it was impossible. They said it couldn't be done. Unfortunately, "they" were a series of Flash-animated Magic-8 Balls, and ZEY VER ROANG, BEETCH! Chapter mother-fubaring four is up, and with any luck, the story will continue to breathe! COME ON, TWILIT EYE, BRING ME ANOTHER BUCKET OF WATER, SHE'S ALMOST AWAKE!


	6. Chapter V: More Then Kin, Less Than Kind

The Conqueror

Chapter V: A Little More Than Kin, and Less Than Kind

The invasive shriek of a trumpet fanfare pulled Mera out of her thoughts as they approached the fortress. King Link obviously knew who they were; as if the Royal Family's banners flying throughout the cortège didn't make it obvious enough. But the cortège managed to fit its entire train into the fortress and collected in a massive courtyard, which, it seemed to Mera, must have taken most of the space of the fortress, as if the building itself was more like a ring around the courtyard.

The convocation faced the great tower in the center of the fortress, where King Link's own banner was flying high above the city: A helical sword that seemed to have two blades, which came together at the point and almost created the appearance of a sword in the shape of the symbol of infinity. Supposedly, it was a representation of the sword King Link wore on formal occasions – and fought with, when necessary. Not that he fought very often. He had people to do that for him. Lots of people.

Zelda stood at the fore of the group, preceded only by a number of Sheikah guards. A veritable phalanx of them surrounded her, while another column of warriors cut her off from the Clock Tower. Her eyes didn't seem to register them as people, though; she focused on the Clock Tower. Namely, she focused on the doorway through which it seemed obvious that King Link would emerge.

"Feeling okay? You don't need me to hold your hand, do you?"

Mera glared over at Amrick. "If I said yes, would you do it?" she said wryly.

He snorted. "Last time you said that, it was a lot more suggestive."

"Last time I said that, we were in bed together." She smirked. "Suggestive enough?"

"Not nearly. You know, I think we ought to try that aga—"

"Shh. I think it's beginning."

The door of the Clock Tower, contrary to everyone's expectations that it would swing outward, instead dropped abruptly downward, to reveal an identical door immediately behind it. Low murmurs rippled through those gathered. The second door lowered, stopping just before it went out of sight, revealing another identical door. The murmurs ceased as many of them understood what was happening. The next door lowered itself to stop slightly above the second; and another, and another, forming a staircase that led up into the Tower. Eventually, the staircase was completely opened, but when nothing happened, the murmurs began again.

Zelda's hand shot up abruptly, and she slowly turned to face her cortège.

"I will have silence," she said. Her voice was not deep or powerful, but it carried easily despite the size of the courtyard. "King Link has shown us great courtesy in allowing us this diplomatic visit. Just as a feast in Hyrule Castle does not begin until the monarch begins the meal, so will there be no words casually spoken here until King Link greets us. We are guests in this place. Do not forget that." Lowering her hand, she once more turned to the Clock Tower.

The courtyard fell silent as the seconds ticked by. The tension increased.

But just when Mera was sure someone would disobey the Princess's command and whisper something to a neighbor, a footstep, loud and crisp, sounded from within the Tower. A second footstep followed it, and then another, and then another. From the shadows within the Tower came a regally-clad man that could only be Link. His regalia glistened in the sunlight as he approached the edge of the balcony and looked down upon the collection of people, and he smiled slowly.

"I bid you welcome!" he bellowed jovially, and smiles broke out all across the courtyard. For his first words to the Hylians, King Link had chosen well. His eyes found Zelda easily among the practically-dressed guards; she was dressed in a manner appropriate to her office, and she was certainly more well-attended than any of the other nobles in the cortège.

"Take thy fair hour, Princess Zelda; time be thine, and thy best graces spend it at thy will! But now, please, let us greet one another happily, and rejoice at this meeting of two alien lands. Come, come, honored Princess, join me for a brief moment!"

He gestured at a path to the side which led up and onto the platform where he stood. Nodding, Zelda gestured for her guards to clear a path through the cortège. It wasn't necessary; as soon as Zelda gestured, a path opened as if people had actually disappeared to clear a space. The Princess crossed the distance and mounted the platform gracefully, stepping up beside King Link and eyeing him speculatively. Mera wondered what that expression meant, but in the next moment, Zelda turned back to her people.

She raised one hand, as she had done a few moments ago to berate; but this time, her words were more ambiguous. "Hyrule is a land of honor and virtue, and thus shall it always remain! This meeting of foreign lands is a great milestone in our nation's history, and thus it will always be, no matter what comes of it. The King Link and I will dine together this evening, as agreed, and we will each learn about our respective lands. I believe that today is the start of a bright future for both Hyrule and Termina." She lowered her hand and looked to Link, who nodded as if the speech had been scripted. Mera doubted it had been, though.

"I too believe that this day marks a great change in history. Our two great nations have come together, and it is the responsibility of the people to ensure that both nations take as much from this encounter as possible. The honored Princess and I will put forth our most sincere efforts in ensuring that outcome. I look forward to finding out what glorious beginnings this day has in store for all of us!"

As if a signal had been given, the onlookers began to applaud. Discomfited, Mera began to clap as well. Amrick, beside her, seemed to be getting much more into it. As the applause died down, King Link and Princess Zelda turned once more to face each other, and seemed to be communicating wordlessly. Then both simultaneously extended their right hands, clasped the other, and shook slowly, regally.

At a small gesture from the Princess, a number of Shiekah guards detached themselves from the crowd and moved quickly and efficiently up to the platform, entering the Clock Tower. Moments later, Zelda and King Link entered the tower side by side, ascending into the darkness within. Another small group of guards followed them in. The rest of the cortège was left in the courtyard. Mera frowned.

"What do we do now?"

Amrick shrugged. "Explore?"

Mera turned her stare on Amrick, and he shifted uncomfortably.

"How exciting!" came the voice of Sito Midas, who appeared as if from thin air between the two. "This bodes well for Hyrule, methinks, and imagine what we can offer this nation! I should like very much to see how this welcoming feast goes. Oh, I ido/i hope they allow me to attend."

"How could they not, Master Sito?"

Sito raised an eyebrow. "I suppose you have a point. Technically, I don't have much political standing. But how could they turn anyone away with such a beautiful face?" He grinned, and it would have been fetching, even on his aged countenance, if not for the slightly mad appearance—which Mera was almost certain he was doing on purpose. "But in any case, if I am to have any hope of taking part, I think I had best be moving. You two will also be expected somewhere."

"Us?" Mera said, ever-so-slightly dumbfounded. "What would we be needed for?"

Sito frowned at her reproachfully. "The fact that you are performing an active service does not excuse you from your continued training, Mera…"

She reddened instantly and inclined her head. "Ah – of course, Master Sito. I won't forget again."

He waved off the apology, laughing. "Why so serious? Just make sure you do what you need to do, Mera. Now, as I said, I must be off." He bowed deeply and almost aristocratically, and vanished into the crowd. Mera looked over to Amrick, who had gone back to staring up at the Clock Tower. Well, that explained his lack of participation in the conversation, but…

"Hello?" Mera prompted. "Is anyone there? We have work that still needs to be done, Amrick."

He blinked, turned his gaze back to her. "Of course," he said, nodding. With a glace back up at the Tower, he said, "Training, right? Where are we doing that?"

"I don't know, but we need to figure that out in twenty minutes, or we'll be late for it."

- - -

"I have, of course, ordered only the best fare Termina has to offer for tonight's feast," the King said pleasantly as he took his seat. Following his lead, the assorted nobles from both Termina and Hyrule took their places. It was a menagerie of color, with each noble—especially the Terminians—resplendently garbed in what seemed the most elaborate court dress imaginable. Except, of course, for King Link and Princess Zelda, who, sitting side by side at the head of the table, appeared to have coordinated their own clothing for the evening's meal. King Link wore a green tunic edged lightly with gold, the cut reminiscent of the Kokiri forest children of Hyrule. His breeches were the same fabric and color as the tunic, cutting off at the knee, and his boots were black, and appeared to be practical but elegant. Over the green tunic he had been wearing a luxurious robe of lush red velvet, which a courtier took before he sat. His head was bare except for a thin diadem consisting only of a golden circlet and a small pearl set directly in the center of his forehead.

Zelda, beside him, wore a variation of her usual court dress, slightly modified to compliment the Terminian King's clothing. The surcoat that extended down the front of her white dress was emerald green rather than its typical violet, though the Triforce was still displayed prominently in its embroidery, and her circlet contained an emerald rather than a ruby.

The King's blue eyes traveled over the entire table, and his smile never faltered. "Let the feast commence!" he said finally, and placed a single white grape between his lips to begin the meal.

The table was silent for a few minutes, until King Link, apparently recognizing that no one was going to do _anything_ unless he did it first, glanced over at the Princess, who sat, dignified, cutting off a small piece of the filet mignon that was the main course. He noted that she ate with quiet dignity, not letting her eyes wander, and also being—apparently—very careful not to do anything crass. Then again, perhaps she always ate like this. He smiled as he watched her eat the tiny piece of meat as if she were afraid a larger piece might harm her delicate teeth.

"There's no need to stand on ceremony, nor call to impress anyone," he said with a grin, loud enough that she could hear him, but not loud enough to broadcast it to the entire table. He had no doubt, though, that the other end of the table would know his precise words within seconds. He could already see the whispering lips moving out of the corner of his eye. "You must be hungry. Try the wine." He gestured lightly at the smorgasbord laid out before them, then almost laughed as she obediently reached for her glass as soon as he made the suggestion. Shaking his head, he added, "And the apples, one of those next." He plucked one out of a nearby bowl and took a bite out of it, somehow managing to retain his regal bearing even while biting casually into the fruit. The Princess raised an eyebrow at him, but then gave a small smile.

"I see the King of Termina has a sense of humor," she said softly. "You cannot understand how much that heartens me. I had feared that such a powerful man might have lost such things as humor and kinship. But here you are, joking like any ordinary man. I'm happy to know you, King Link."

"I'm happy that you're happy!" he replied promptly. "It would be a poor host indeed who did not delight in his guest's pleasure. Incidentally, if there's anything you need or desire while you stay in Novus Aevum, my servants and slaves have been instructed to obey you as they obey me."

Zelda went very still for a brief moment, but she recovered so swiftly that no one but the King noticed the reaction. He laughed softly to himself before she could formulate a diplomatic response, and saved her the effort. "I assure you, Princess, it is only a technical term; my slaves have as many freedoms as any citizen of Termina."

The Princess relaxed to a degree, and began to cut off another piece of her filet.

This diplomatic and aristocratic middle ground was wearing on her nerves; she couldn't acknowledge their last meeting in front of all these nobles, not without creating a multitude of questions that simply couldn't be answered plausibly—even with the truth. He was playing the part of stranger equally well, but she knew he was hiding it for the sake of convenience, just as she was doing. As soon as they had a chance to speak alone, though, she would be able to efficiently learn just what was going on, what had happened in the intervening years since they'd known each other so briefly. But this… This was a sham, and every bone in her body knew it. Still, appearances had to be kept up… That was one aspect of government that Zelda disdained above all else, but which was as unavoidable as it was vital. Appearances must be kept up, for the sake of the general populace.

With that in mind, Zelda and the King turned their conversation to the more mundane aspects of government, and succeeded in keeping up appearances throughout the meal.

After some time had passed, a female Sheikah guard, young and dressed formally but without sacrificing the least bit of practicality, entered the hall and approached Sito Midas, who sat to Zelda's right, the first seat on the side of the table. The Sheikah knelt slightly, handed something to the old scholar, and left when Sito nodded. The wiry old Thane, probably the only Sheikah in the fortress _not_ dressed practically for a battle-ready warrior, unfolded the object—a letter of some sort—read it, and then, after folding it, covered a yawn with his left hand, and blinked thrice rapidly, as if trying to dislodge some small object. Zelda didn't miss the hidden signal: It was a Sheikah sign that he needed to speak with her in private. It surprised her; not that he needed to speak with her in private, but that he'd used that gesture. After all, she hadn't agreed on any secret signs with him beforehand, and she hadn't been in close contact with Sheikah methods for decades. How did he even know she would recognize the symbol? But a moment later, Sito laughingly excused himself from the lady to his right, with whom he had been chatting about the wine, and absented himself. He murmured something about needing fresh air.

Zelda knew better than to follow him immediately. She didn't even acknowledge his leaving, except with a friendly nod as he left. She continued with the meal as if nothing was out of the ordinary, and paid only some of her attention to her conversation with Link—something about income taxes. The rest of her mind was focused on Sheikah methods that she might need to recall—what other secret signals might she have missed already? A handshake with the thumb on the wrong side—crossed over the other person's thumb—was a sign. Wasn't it? An inquiry of some sort. And eating with the left hand suggested that there were unwelcome listeners. In fact, doing anything casual with the left hand suggested that someone unsavory might be nearby. What else? She would have to be more alert; she'd only caught that gesture by chance, and that only because her attention had been diverted by the appearance of the messenger. Wearing certain types of flowers on one's person, she recalled of a sudden, could indicate opinions about one's surroundings. She could only remember a few flowers used for this kind of message, though. Azalea urged caution and self-preservation. Dahlia warned against overt violence. Bird's foot suggested that an assassination was intended to take place, and white Jasmine flowers suggested keeping the peace despite personal opinions and loyalties.

"Princess?"

Zelda blinked. She had stopped eating, and was staring thoughtfully at a decorative vase in the center of the table. Now she looked up.

"I'm terribly sorry," she said. "I must be tired from the long journey."

"Indubitably," the King said, nodding. "Perhaps you should go outside, and take in some fresh air? The meal is nearly over in any case. Please, remember that you are welcome to do as you please while you enjoy my hospitality."

Fresh air? It couldn't have been coincidence. He was blatantly—blatant to Zelda, at least—suggesting that she take this opportunity to go and speak with Sito. Well, she didn't understand fully, but it certainly suggested that he was more trustworthy than she might have expected, if more perceptive than she had realized.

"Yes," she said, smiling as if embarrassed. "Yes, I think some fresh air will do me some good. If you'll excuse me, my Lord, I will take your suggestion to heart." She rose from the table, inclined her head slightly to all the nobles who had turned to see why she had risen, and quietly absented herself from the hall.

Once in the corridor, she racked her memory for the sign she wanted. There would certainly be a Sheikah guard nearby, watching from the shadows. She could easily summon the Sheikah with a word… but she wanted them, as well, to know that she had not forgotten _all_ of what she had learned from them. Ah, yes. She inhaled deeply, closed her eyes, and brushed her hair back with her right middle finger, hooking it behind her ear. Then she opened her eyes, exhaled, and briefly touched her lips with her right pointer finger, as if in thought.

That gesture would indicate to any nearby Shiekah that she required assistance; specifically, directions, or a guide or escort. As she'd hoped, a Shiekah appeared as if melting out of the shadows themselves. She noticed with mild surprise that it was the same guard who had brought Sito the letter during the meal.

"Princess," the girl said reverently and with more than a little surprise. So. She hadn't expected Zelda to know any such signals. At least she had responded. Zelda would have felt foolish if she'd garbled the sign. "In all things I serve." Ugh. Traditional words from a Hylian to his or her monarch; the words practically begged for an order to be given.

Zelda nodded slightly.

"You know where Thane Midas went?" she said, forgoing any pretense she might have given to another guard. "I need to speak with him. Please show me to him."

"Of course, Princess." The girl bowed once more and turned. The two made their silent way through the fortress corridors, passing nothing of note save bare stone walls until they came to a door which, from the light coming around the edges, led outside. The sun was only just setting. So, Zelda surmised, this was the west end of the fortress. She put a hand on the door, then said to the girl, "Thank you…?"

"Mera," the girl said, dumbfounded. She hadn't expected Zelda to be interested in her name.

"Just Mera?" Zelda prompted, but instead of giving a last name, the girl simply nodded.

"Yes, Princess," she said as if embarrassed. "Just Mera."

Odd. But not unheard of, especially among Sheikah. Zelda nodded. "Thank you, Mera. You may go now. I wish to speak with Thane Midas in private."

Nodding, the girl vanished in the corridors so quickly that Zelda blinked a few times before relegating the odd phenomenon of Sheikah stealth to all the other strange things that she did not quite understand and probably never would, and pushed the door open.

Outside Sito stood at the edge of a balcony—they were indeed on the outer western face of the fortress, looking toward the setting sun. As she went to stand beside him, Sito didn't react. He had probably been aware of Zelda's presence from the moment she'd arrived at the door, she realized.

"You wanted to speak with—"

Sito raised an easy hand, and Zelda marveled at his ability to silence her, the Sovereign of Hyrule, with such a casual gesture; and yet she didn't mind it at all. Somehow, she knew he would have some sort of lesson in store for her, or at least a moment's entertainment.

Along, of course, with whatever information had been given to him during the meal.

But she fell silent and waited, her eyes struggling to remain on the horizon but straying defiantly back over to the enigmatic Shiekah Thane.

After a long time, Sito's face broke into a smile and he laughed softly, though he kept his eyes on the sunset.

"You're more than half my age, and you still can't surmount your impatience," he laughed, and she wasn't sure if he was insulting her or simply making a comment. Perhaps both, knowing him.

"I have responsibilities," she said softly.

"As do we all," Sito said, sobering up a little. "But, my dear Princess, we can't fulfill our responsibilities if we run ourselves into the ground trying to do so." He looked over at her and smiled the way he always did when he needed to assure her that he _was_ going somewhere with this, and not simply making fun of her.

Zelda nodded, though she was certain he had a more subtle message than the obvious, 'Lighten up.'

Sito just smiled. "Something we as people often fail to realize, Princess, is that many of our perceived responsibilities will take care of themselves if we simply stop trying to impose our own influence on them."

Zelda nodded again. So he was advising her not to stretch herself too thin.

"And Zelda," Sito said, his simple use of her name surprising her enough to grab her attention for the moment, "you must stop trying to find the hidden meaning in my words. I'm just an old man, not a puzzle to be solved."

Zelda smiled. "You're the Thane Midas," she said, laughing when he winced at the title, "and I'll not have anyone saying that you are less."

He sighed, rolled his eyes theatrically, and turned back to the sunset. With his left hand, he reached into his jacket and removed from a pocket a small white azalea flower. Zelda stiffened immediately, but Sito merely watched her stoically as he attached the flower to his lapel.

"I'm glad that the meaning of certain fashion is not lost on you, my Princess," he said very softly. "The Terminian King seems very keen on appearances." He smiled as if his words were funny. She supposed they might have been, to someone who wasn't hearing the underlying meaning. "I certainly hope you are able to keep up with these fashions while we're here. But I don't suppose that will be a problem, with such knowledgeable attendants." He was speaking, not of her personal attendants, but of the Sheikah. Yes, he was right; it would be wise to review what she knew of secret Sheikah signals. She might need a much more thorough understanding of them before this diplomatic visit came to its end.

The flower attached, Sito lowered his hand—his _left_ hand, she noted with quiet alarm—and nodded. When he next spoke, his tone was such that Zelda knew he was no longer speaking in riddles and secret messages. This was now purely pleasantry. "As I said, Princess, it would not do to worry yourself overmuch, especially with such mundane issues as fashion. But we do not want this foreign King outshining you, now, do we? I have no doubt he will try. After all, it is human nature to reach for what can't be attained."

Zelda lost her careful composure in the unexpected compliment, and laughed. "Thank you, Sito. But I suppose I must be getting to sleep. There is an official diplomatic assembly tomorrow morning—which you, too, you sly old man, are supposed to attend. I, for one, require sleep periodically. I would suggest you do the same, but I know my suggestions don't influence your actions." She grinned as she spoke, giving lie to the stern words.

Sito laughed to himself, nodded, and turned fully away from the balcony, facing her bodily, and extended his right hand. She reached out to take it, and was only mildly surprised to feel him palm something—the letter, of course—up her sleeve.

"As always, my Princess, I serve you and Hyrule with love and loyalty." Now, those were words she didn't often hear from Sito. Just how serious was the situation? She nodded.

"As always," she said in an improvised but formal reply, "I serve the same motherland with the same love and loyalty. Good night, Sito, and thank you." With those words, she left the balcony, the letter itching in more ways than one.

She summoned another guard with the same gesture as before, but it was not the same girl. This was a man in his prime, and something in his eyes, while it made her wonder how many battles he'd been through, also told her that he was a trustworthy servant of the Crown.

"Sir," she said, and the man didn't react to the respectful term of address, "please show me to the apartments given to me by the King."

"As you wish, Princess," the man said with a short nod, and set out.

Again, their traversal of the sparsely-furnished corridors went without incident, and Zelda entered her apartment. She crossed the small antechamber and entered the bedchamber. She briefly looked around, considered trying the summoning gesture just to see if any of her guards were nearby, then decided she would rather not know. After all, it didn't matter if her guards knew that she had a secret letter. Regardless of the contents, they knew better than to gossip. And as to other issues of privacy…

Well. They knew better than to gossip, and that was all that needed to be said on the matter.

She removed the letter from her sleeve and unfolded it. It was written in a slow scrawl, not exactly neat but easily legible. It was not in Hylian, but a Sheikah script with which Zelda was _not_ familiar. She sighed. Damn Sito and his jokes.

Or was it a joke? Was she meant to understand something from this incomprehensible letter?

Azalea… and his casual use of the left hand. Perhaps he had told her all she needed to know with those signals. After all, what specific details could be in the letter that might go beyond those simple warnings? If it was vital, she would be told. She trusted Sito. But…

She inhaled sharply as something else came back to her. _You're more than half my age, and you still can't surmount your impatience._ Surmount. The word 'surmount' was another secret Sheikah sign. How was it used? Damn Sito and his mysteries! Surmount. Surmount.

"Surmount," she murmured. "Surmount."

_…surmount your impatience…_

Could that be all? Could it be a suggestion to be patient and wait for events to unfold? But what kind of a man would give such advice to his Sovereign? Shouldn't she be as completely aware of her surroundings as possible? If there was something unsavory going on…

_…many of our perceived responsibilities will take care of themselves…_

She sighed and folded the letter back up. Sly old man and his lessons. She'd speak with him tomorrow, after the assembly, and she'd ferret out whatever secrets he was keeping from her, no matter how strongly Sito felt that she should remain ignorant. This situation was delicate enough as it was, and she didn't need court retainers deciding what she did and did not need to know.

Dropping the letter on the stand beside her bed, Zelda sat down on the side of the bed, undressed while trying very hard not to think about the possibility of unseen observers, and slowly but surely found her way into unconsciousness.

El apunte de escritor

"The Note of the Writer!" (Dun dun dunnnnnnnnn, dramatic reverrrrrrrb!)

My Gawd, I think we're actually doing it. You can probably tell I had a lot of fun with all the intrigue and 'secret signals' nonsense in this chapter. The bit about the flowers, by the way, is loosely based on actual symbolism. Not that I'm going to bore you with all this 'behind-the-scenes' crap. For the love of all that is good and holy, people, R&R! I'm not talking about rest and relaxation. I'm asking - no, begging - no, damn it, I'm _ordering_ you to read and review! We're authors, a rare breed of nerd that subsists entirely on praise and advice. In other words, if you don't praise or criticize us, we wither and DIE. And then there is NO FANFICTION FOR YOU. Do you want that to happen? Do you want to be a murderer? Because if you don't read and review this story, you are a murderer. And that's what the Communists want.

Twilit Eye is gasping like a fish out of water in agreement with me. I'm here in the hospital with him, and I wish I could post pictures here, because I want you people to know what you're doing to him. He's hooked up to about sixty-eight life-support machines (he couldn't quite handle 69), and they have to feed him video game reviews through a tube. _Through a tube._ Give him some real sustenance, people. He needs you. He needs to know you care. So everybody stand up and say it with me: We care! We care! We care! That's right. Just remember: Communists don't care about reviewing fanfiction. You know why? Because you can't spell Communist without _ni!_

...The hell?...


	7. Meditatio XIX: Eternal Smile

The Conqueror

Meditatio XIX: Eternal Smile

As Zelda's pale body disappeared beneath the sheets, the unseen Sheikah observer turned away from the peephole and drew his hand out of his pocket.

"She suspects nothing," he whispered to his accomplice. "It's time to go and see the King."

-

The two Sheikah, faces veiled and revealing only the eyes, emerged in the King's antechamber. A burly female guard appeared from nowhere and blocked their passage further in.

"The King has asked not to be disturbed," she grunted.

"We're here on his orders," the taller Sheikah said.

"Not to be disturbed," the guard repeated in her gravelly voice.

"Listen, Brutus, he ordered us to be here. I'd say that supersedes any general order of No Admittance."

The guard shook her head. "I have my orders."

"And we have ours. Either you let us in, or we'll let ourselves in."

The guard scowled and lay one hand on her sword.

"Now, that's just disgusting," the shorter Sheikah said, his first words of the evening.

"No one enters," the guard said firmly. The taller Sheikah responded by stepping forward, drawing back his foot, and kicking her soundly in the nuts. She howled and fell to the floor, rolling and clutching at her groin. The two Sheikah stepped over her and entered Link's apartment proper.

The apartment was lavish and very colorful; there was a doorway apparently leading into the bedchamber, and in this room a red sofa and several chairs, as well as a minibar. The taller Sheikah thought he smelled vodka. The shorter Sheikah thought he smelled something else, but attributed that to the hermaphroditic guard still yowling in the antechamber.

All of a sudden, Link's head appeared from behind the sofa.

"I gave orders - !" he started to shout, but the taller Sheikah interrupted him.

" - for us to come here," he said, and held up a manila folder. "We have what you wanted. Now you have to give us what we want."

"You idiots!" the King growled. "I - Ugh. Fine. Just... wait a moment."

He disappeared behind the sofa and there was a series of rustling, and once, a soft giggle. Then a small blonde woman - really more of a girl than a woman - appeared, clad in a white silken robe, and fled the room. The shorter Sheikah stared appreciatively after her.

"Now," Link said, standing up in a hastily-donned white robe and striding around. "Would you gentlemen care for a drink?" He headed to the minibar and rifled around a bit. He seemed to be having trouble finding what he wanted. "Vodka... Vodka... Vodka... Vodka... Schnapps... Vodka... Vodka... Whiskey... Vodka... Vodka..."

"Your Majesty," the shorter Sheikah said all of a sudden. "Why does the back of your robe...?"

Link froze. In one smooth gesture, he pulled off the robe and examined the back. (The two Sheikah prudently started examining the furniture.) In delicate gold stitching across the back, the words "Daddy's Girl" were legible. He cursed and donned the robe again. The two Sheikah looked back to him.

"She must have taken my robe by mistake," Link muttered, and went back to the booze. "Aha! Wine. Red or white?"

"I prefer red," the taller Sheikah said, and the shorter nodded. Link cursed again.

"Damn it, I found the white. Vodka... Vodka..."

"Actually, Your Majesty, we'd rather just exchange the agreed-upon items."

Link sighed. "You people never allow me the opportunity to really test this body's alcohol tolerance..."

"What?"

"Nothing. Hand me the goods." The manila folder changed hands. Link opened it. His eyes bulged, as well as something else that the Sheikah pretended not to notice, and he closed the folder. "This is - er - excellent. I'll just, ehm, put it away for now. Now..." He looked back to the Sheikah. "My part of the bargain."

"Right."

"Well, you'll recall that I agreed to give you an ambiguously defined reward that could easily be interpreted to a roundabout metaphor for killing you?"

"Yup."

There was a brief outpouring of power, and the two Sheikah collapsed.

"Lurch!" he shouted. In a moment, the burly guard entered, limping slightly. She paused just inside the door and adjusted her uniform. "Get rid of these two gullible tools for me. I've got to go and see to some... er... matters of state." He retreated into his bedchamber, holding the folder close to him.

Lurch complied with his commands, dumping the bodies into the city's sewage system, but little did she know, the taller Sheikah wasn't really dead...

-

Mera bumped into the wall behind her. "Ow!" she cried. "Amrick, stop thrusting so hard! I've never done this with a man before."

"Don't be so coy," Amrick said as he drew back. His features tightened and he grunted as he thrust again. "You've never done this with anybody. It's pretty obvious, you know."

Mera gave a sharp intake of breath. "I have too done it. With No'ua. No'ua Bir, the Council Member?"

Amrick drew back again and paused, frowning. "She does this with trainees?"

"Yes. Don't stop, Amrick. We're not going to make any progress if you keep pausing before we're finished."

He grumbled and thrust again. "It's not working, Mera. We're not getting anywhere."

"But we've been instructed to do this. We can't just give up. Are you holding back? What's the matter, can't get your blood flowing when you're with a woman? You can only do this with other men? Don't make me laugh. Come on!"

Amryck growled. "Well, if you'd stop squirming, Mera, I'd be able to hit the target a lot better. You're not making this any easier."

"Oh, shut up and put it in. It's not like it's that small of a target. Honestly, I think it's the size of the weapon that's making this difficult. That thing is huge!"

Snorting, Amrick thrust again. At last, the blade stuck into the wooden shield Mera wielded, and she lowered it, breathing heavily.

"Finally," he sighed, dropping the sword. "I think we're supposed to report to Sito now."

-

"Well?" Sito demanded.

"We finished," Amrick said. "It took a while."

"I had to prod him pretty hard to get him to really try, but eventually, he put it in just like you told him to."

"Did he hurt you?" Sito pressed.

"Well, I've never done it before, so it wasn't all roses, but aside from that, he was pretty gentle. For a Sheikah."

Sito nodded. "Sheikah are known for their heavy hands. You'll survive."

"I know. I just hope I'm not pregnant."

Both of the men turned and stared at her. "What?" they both said simultaneously.

She shrugged. "Oh, no reason," she said, and skipped out of the room.

"You two weren't doing anything else in that room, were you?" Sito said suspiciously.

"No!" Amrick said. "Well... Not really. We played 'Hide the Pickle' a couple of times, but I kept finding it, so we gave up on having any fun with it."

"Oh. Well, that's fine. You only played 'Hide the Pickle?'"

"Mm-hmm."

"No 'Unfaithful Businessman and Secretary Mistress'? No 'Schoolteacher and Naughty Schoolgirl'?"

"No. And before you ask, we didn't play 'Two Lonely Male Prison Inmates'."

"Oh. Good. You had me worried for a minute there."

Amrick rolled his eyes. "Will that be all, Sito?"

Sito laughed under his breath. "Yes, Amrick. That will be all... for you." The gun appeared as if from nowhere. With all the slow-motion cinematics of a twenty-first century film gunfight, the bullet emerged from the barrel, traveled through the intervening air, and burrowed deep into Amrick's chest. The young Sheikah's eyes widened, and he fell forward, clutching at Sito's clothing.

"But... Master... Why?"

"Because, Amrick. You fear the Dark Side of the Forse too much. You could never truly be my successor. You could never learn to embrace the Dark Side as I do. Do you understand?"

"Master... I..." Amrick exhaled, and his hands loosened their grip on Sito's clothing. He collapsed on the floor. Sito laughed softly to himself.

"Now to finish the job and run him over," he muttered, and vanished from the room. A moment later, he crashed right back through in a '97 Ford Explorer, grinding the young Sheikah's bones to dust beneath its tires. The Explorer vanished into the darkness, taking out another wall as it went.

-

As the sun rose, Zelda emerged from her bedchamber in a fluffy pink robe.

"Good morning, Princess," the King said from where he'd been leaning inconspicuously against the wall. "Would you like to come to my apartments for some... coffee?"

"Coffee?" Zelda repeated. "Gee, thanks, that's better than sex."

"Hey!" Link shouted, then, more quietly, "You can't be so blunt! This is T-rated, Zelda."

"What?"

"This story. It's T-rated. You can't be that obvious."

"What are you talking about? We can't have - "

"No, I'm not saying that. We can do whatever we want... behind closed doors. It's kind of like the military, you know? Don't ask, don't tell. You can do whatever you want, you just can't talk about it."

"...Link, are you telling me you're gay?"

"No!" he snapped. "Well, that's beside the point, anyway. Look. Let's go back to my apartment for some coffee, and I'll explain."

"Is that a metaphor for tongue - "

"No!" He grabbed her by the arm and dragged her out of the apartment, back to his, where they enjoyed some coffee. A lot of really good coffee. In fact, the coffee was so good, and they had so much of it, that by the time they were done, the temperature in the entire fortress had risen by almost five degrees.

-

"The game is up, Sito," Mera bellowed. "Step out of the vehicle with your hands behind your head, and stand facing the vehicle."

"Eat hot lead, copper!" Sito snarled at her, spun around in the Explorer, and revved the engine viciously. He floored it and raced forward, leaning out the door and firing the gun in her general direction. She easily sidestepped and allowed him to crash into a tree. He didn't die instantly, but the internal hemorrhaging took care of him soon enough. Meanwhile, Mera took it upon herself to steal the radio. On her way back to the castle, she lobbed the radio up and through an upper window.

-

"I fee-ee-eel you-u-u, Ze-e-elda-a-a," Link sang when he finished his coffee. "I fee-ee-eel you-u-u... Nanana... Sweetly buried in your yellow hair..."

Zelda lifted her head from the pillow and looked down at Link. "What?"

"Oh, it's just a song I - " At that moment, a car radio smashed through the window and into his head, knocking him out instantly. Zelda stared at him for a moment, uncomprehending. Then she shoved him off the bed, frowning at the blood he trailed behind him. She removed the bloody sheet from the bed.

"Jeez," she said as she shrugged into a robe and bundled up the sheet, "I'm not even sur how much of that blood is his."

-

"All right! Enough! This is ridiculous! It's disgusting, suggestive, morally repulsive filth and I won't have it posted under MY name, nosirree!" TwilitEye shouted. "I warned you against this kind of garbage, and I want you to delete it right now! Don't you even consider posting it! I forbid it! This is my account and you will not go posting things of which I disapprove!"

"Oh, shut up," Mera said as she appeared out of nowhere. She smote him. And she saw that it was good.

Zelda appeared in the doorway. "Hah! I've found you, Mera! I've discovered your darkest secret, and I'm going to use it to destroy you before you can attain your diabolical goals!"

Mera blinked. "What?"

Zelda pointed at her. "You're actually God in disguise!"

"What?"

"Admit it! Normal people don't smite others. Look at what you did to the author!"

"Co-author," Mera corrected. "You don't think this is writing itself, do you?"

"It doesn't matter. You're dodging the accusation!"

"Because you're not in your right mind."

"What do you mean?" Zelda demanded.

"Well, for starters, you've obviously just had way too much coffee for one person to safely have. I'm surprised you can stand."

Zelda scowled. "God damn it!"

"No."

Zelda pointed a finger at Mera. "Ahah! I got you! You are God!"

"God damn it."

There was an awkward pause as Zelda tried to figure that one out. Mera took advantage of the distraction to strike Zelda down with lightning.

"Well, now that she's out of the picture, there's no one left to stop me from taking over the universe!"

-

AND NOW FOR SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT.

-

Now I am alone.  
O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I!  
Is it not monstrous that this player here,  
But in a fiction, in a dream of passion,  
Could force his soul so to his own conceit  
That from her working all his visage wann'd,  
Tears in his eyes, distraction in's aspect,  
A broken voice, and his whole function suiting  
With forms to his conceit? and all for nothing!  
For Hecuba!  
What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba,  
That he should weep for her? What would he do,  
Had he the motive and the cue for passion  
That I have? He would drown the stage with tears  
And cleave the general ear with horrid speech,  
Make mad the guilty and appal the free,  
Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed  
The very faculties of eyes and ears. Yet I,  
A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak,  
Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause,  
And can say nothing; no, not for a king,  
Upon whose property and most dear life  
A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward?  
Who calls me villain? breaks my pate across?  
Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face?  
Tweaks me by the nose? gives me the lie i' the throat,  
As deep as to the lungs? who does me this?  
Ha!  
'swounds, I should take it: for it cannot be  
But I am pigeon-liver'd and lack gall  
To make oppression bitter, or ere this  
I should have fatted all the region kites  
With this slave's offal: bloody, bawdy villain!  
Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain!  
O, vengeance!  
Why, what an ass am I! This is most brave,  
That I, the son of a dear father murder'd,  
Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell,  
Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words,  
And fall a-cursing, like a very drab,  
A scullion!  
Fie upon't! foh! About, my brain! I have heard  
That guilty creatures sitting at a play  
Have by the very cunning of the scene  
Been struck so to the soul that presently  
They have proclaim'd their malefactions;  
For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak  
With most miraculous organ. I'll have these players  
Play something like the murder of my father  
Before mine uncle: I'll observe his looks;  
I'll tent him to the quick: if he but blench,  
I know my course. The spirit that I have seen  
May be the devil: and the devil hath power  
To assume a pleasing shape; yea, and perhaps  
Out of my weakness and my melancholy,  
As he is very potent with such spirits,  
Abuses me to damn me: I'll have grounds  
More relative than this: the play 's the thing  
Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king.

_Exit._

-

El apunte de escritor

"The Note of the Writer!" (Dun dun dunnnnnnnnn, dramatic reverrrrrrrb!)

Um... Er... I don't know. It was Twilit Eye's idea. Blame him. Even though I kind of... wrote it all without any input from him... It was still his idea.

THIS IS NOT CANON. I WAS BORED. PLEASE DON'T SEND ME HATE MAIL. IT MAKES ME FEEL LIKE I'M NOT LOVED.


End file.
